Shades of Grey and Black
by catalinaD
Summary: On the whim of a jealous Arl, all was taken from Ffion Cousland. She is dropped into the Wardens where she discovers just how thin the line is between their just Grey and the Black sorrow that threatens to consume her, even as the Blight eats at Ferelden.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Well, now that I've covered both Oblivion and Morrowind, I thought I'd try my hand at Dragon Age and all the fun that goes along with it. This is a trial run here and if you all like it, I'll try to keep it up. I _did_ just get the second game last week and it is _fairly_ addicting, so that may be harder than what I think, but I do promise to try. Take care and all the best! catalinaD

(P.S. Another million thanks to Lady Reva for her insight on the story so far, it was great to get a different perspective!)

**Disclaimer:** Yeah, right. If it was mine, I'd disappear with Alistair... or Zevran... or Anders... Nate's good too... and never be seen again.

* * *

The tunnels smelled of death and decay and echoed with both the ghosts of the dead and snarls of the living. The Dwarf scout, sent on ahead by his lieutenant commander Gorym, was used to the smell, not the sounds. He felt his body tense almost beyond tolerance each time he had to round a corner and the relief when the coast was clear was nearly as debilitating. There were half a dozen scouts each exploring different routes, following their commanders' orders. Dwarves who were, in turn, under orders from their lords to discover why there would be an increase in the presence of Darkspawn on the surface.

So far, there had been nothing beyond the normal influx but this scout knew it had to be something more. His path seemed to stretch on forever and when he came to the end of the tunnel, he paused. There was an unholy red light just ahead and he thought he could hear something that sounded eerily like the marching of thousands of feet.

Tightening his hold on his longbow and shifting his quiver-full of arrows within easy reach, he inched forward, checking for Darkspawn in both directions before venturing any further. He found himself in a cavernous room, the ceiling soared away above him, and by the intense heat, he knew he had to be close to the lava pools well below Orzammar. Far across from him, through simmering air, he could make out massive doors and ancient Dwarven architecture. The sound of marching seemed to spike and he moved again, looking around at everything in the process.

He slowed as he realized the heat was roiling up from the chasm yawning before him and he ducked behind a large boulder. Feeling secure enough, he peeked over the edge and almost fell. His eyes took in the overwhelming scene about ⅔ of a mile below him and he muttered curses underneath his breath. He had seen hordes of Darkspawn before but nothing like this. Short, stubby Genlocks were shoving their way through menacing Hurlocks, while the Emissaries remained unmovable and hulking Ogres stared down them all, tossing them about as if they were nothing.

The scout was frozen in dismayed shock until another sound rose over everything and made him recoil against the boulder, his blood turning to ice in his veins. A huge, spiked dragon swooped down, the wind from its wings sending a whirl of hot, death-filled air to ruffle his hair. Its unholy roar filled the cavern and, with a resounding crash, it landed on a broken section of bridge that jutted over the chasm and studied those gathered beneath it. The sinewy neck went back and it arched its head up, letting out another roar before spreading its monstrous wings and taking flight. The scout remained frozen, stunned by the magnitude of what he had just seen and the effects of the dragon's, _Archdemon's!_ his head told him, roar.

Suddenly a shout went up from the other side of the chasm and his mind yelled, _Caught!_ even before his eyes found the Genlock. Immediately, and stupidly, he took off running, vainly trying to make it back to the tunnel.

He didn't.

There was a sharp _twang_ and an arrow sunk into his neck, dropping him.

The scout died a mere foot from his safety and with his last breath went that warning his commander so desperately needed: The Blight indeed was coming.

**

* * *

**

"Out! You mangy, flea-ridden beast! Out, out, out!"

The shout reverberated throughout the Cousland castle, bouncing off stone slab and wood doors and making it sound like there were half a dozen Nan's instead of just a lone, incredibly pissed off one.

Ffion Cousland winced. Leave it to Tilly to find her way into Nan's kitchen in the midst of the cook trying to pull off one of her famed meals before the company arrived. With a sigh, Ffion dropped her well-worn book at the base of the tree and leaped down gracefully. Her annoyance spiked. Her plan had been working beautifully, too. She hated when company came to stay. As much as she adored her parents, her mother's incessant pushing towards marriage and asking... well, not even _veiled_ questions about any available sons; brothers; cousins, that a guest of theirs might have was rapidly getting old, and was also the reason she had hidden herself away in the towering willow.

As usual, the thought made her wince again and her brother's favorite curse immediately ran through her mind. _Maker's balls!_ She was only 22 and didn't even want to think about... sex, let alone marriage. Besides, she was enjoying being the only woman in the castle that could reduce grown men into hissy fits when she bested them at dual weapons, archery, or knife throwing. Which would surely come to a complete and sudden halt if and when she got 'married off.'

Add to this, now that she was out of hiding, Eleanor Cousland would corner her and demand she go upstairs to make herself 'presentable.' She grimaced at this thought. She was skirting the main hall entrance, choosing instead to walk through the kitchen garden and enter the direct door there. Leaning against the wall of the castle was a guest room mirror that had been brought out to be scrubbed and she paused before it. She wasn't even sure what 'presentable' meant and she studied herself rather critically, something she never normally did. Despite others' words, Ffion had never considered herself any great beauty and had always thought that people were simply kow-towing to her parents when they complimented her. She had a rather round face with almond shaped grey eyes and a certain trick of setting her jaw that transformed her expression into hard lines. She was told once that she had an attractive, pouting mouth that men found appealing and women envied, not that Ffion would know. In her own mind, her one great beauty was her hair, which tumbled down her back to hang at her elbows in a mass of chocolate colored curls... when she let it.

"Cur!" Nan's screech was gaining in pitch and violence, "When I get my hands on you-"

Ffion shook herself and scowled at her reflection. She didn't like this sentimentality and without another glance, she jerked open the door and walked into the kitchen. Stout, grey haired Nan was standing in front of the larder door, her face was red and furious and her arms were folded tightly across her chest. The 5 Elves the Cousland's employed as kitchen help were grouped together across the room, not bothering to hide their amusement. They glanced up as Ffion came in and grinned even more widely when she held a finger to her lips.

"Nan dear, I believe I heard you calling," She said jovially.

The cook rounded on her, dark brown eyes flashing. She unfolded her arms and jabbed a finger at the larder.

"That... beast you call a pet is in my larder doing its damnedest to destroy tonight's feast," Nan's gaze became malevolent and Ffion couldn't help but grin cheekily. The number of times she had seen that look over the years and thoughts of how it had terrified her and her brother Fergus suddenly became too much. She felt 10 years old again and caught stealing pies, "Young miss, I swear, if I find that you put that beast up to this, I-"

"My sweet Nan," Ffion interrupted and stepped up to twine her arm around the cook's waist, "I'm hurt. You know I would never do such a thing, not when I know how hard you must be working to make tonight perfect."

Nan shook Ffion off, but not nearly as roughly as she intended and the young woman knew she had stemmed Nan's angry tide, for now.

"Don't you go pulling my chain," She reprimanded and the tone was much softer, "I know all your charms, young miss, and it's no use. Now, be a dear and get that animal out of my larder before I send for Ser Gilmore to do it."

"Yes, ma'am," Ffion answered meekly and saw by Nan's expression that she had capitulated and was once more under her thumb.

She went into the larder and instantly saw why Nan was so upset. There was an overturned shelf and three tipped barrels, one of which had popped open, scattering rice across the floor. The others had stayed intact and so had the sugar sack that had fallen. Rolls of cheese were lying amongst the rice and there also were netted bags of fresh fruit. Ffion was surprised Tilly wasn't helping herself to the convenient cheeses and then she spotted the furiously wagging tail behind the upset shelf.

"Tilly," She said firmly and the chestnut Mabari jerked about, dropping the dead rat in her mouth and bounding to her lady. Ffion gave her an absent pat and stepped around the mess to get a look at what her dog had discovered. There, just behind where the shelf had been, was a hole big enough for the rats to squeeze through, "Good job, Tilly, good girl."

The Mabari crouched on her front legs, stub tail waving so quickly it was nothing but a chestnut blur. Her brown eyes were shinning happily at the praise in Ffion's voice and she pressed her stocky body next to her lady so she could shove her nose into the hole.

"Nan!" Ffion called, "Can you come here a moment?"

Ffion set the barrels right and was placing the cheese and fruit on another shelf when the cook appeared in the doorway. Her face became stormy again until she spotted the dead rat. Her eyes flickered and for a moment, she almost looked sheepish.

"Well, I guess I'll have to set some traps," She finally conceded.

Ffion didn't push it. Instead, she nodded and then motioned to the shelf.

"Since I'm here, I'll help you set this right."

Nan looked on the verge of protesting; she had never approved of the Teyrn's daughter taking part in menial labor. But once 'young miss' got an idea in her head, not even the Maker could change her mind. The cook helped to replace the shelf after shoving the dead rat into a bag and then called for one of the Elves to bring a broom to sweep up the rice.

"Now, young miss," She said in her 'don't interrupt and argue' tone that Ffion always reveled in knowing her brother had heard more often, "You've been hiding from your mother. She came in just a moment ago looking for you and here you are, close enough to hear me shout. Go, take your mutt and act like a lady for the Teyrna's guests."

"Oh, acting like a lady takes too much effort and there's no fun in it," Ffion moaned dramatically as she allowed the cook to shoo her from the larder.

"No games, miss! The Teyrn, Maker bless him, was always too soft with you, letting you grow up so it's like he has two boys. It's time you became a lady and take a husband and stop your swordplay-"

"And put up my hair and learn to wear a dress and carry a fan," Ffion interrupted and then jerked playfully at Nan's apron, "I get enough of this from Mother, don't you start, Nan dear. As soon as Fergus and Father are gone, I'll need an ally."

Ffion left the kitchen, absurdly pleased with herself over her success with Nan. Her high spirits made her more malleable and she was giving into the inevitable before she quite realized it. With a sigh of longing for the last rays of sunshine outside, she let her hand fall to Tilly's head and muttered,

"Well, girl, at least I squeezed a half hour out of it, right?" She smiled as the Mabari cocked her head and seemed to understand, "Come on, let's go keep each other out of trouble."

Tilly let out an almost protesting whine as they continued down the hallway. Ffion felt the rebellion that was her second nature pulling at her and she went the long way around the castle as she made for the private quarters. She was just skirting one of the side doors to the main hall when she heard her father call her from inside the room. She doubled back and entered, immediately stifling her annoyed sigh when she spotted Arl Rendon Howe. Howe was a friend and fellow soldier of Bryce Cousland's. They had fought together years ago when the Orlesians were wrestled out of Ferelden and they had remained fairly close throughout that time. Neither Fergus nor Ffion cared much for him, and his snide comments about his ancestors' folly in letting the castle trade into Cousland hands were not as flippant as he strove for them to be. Ffion in particular had never liked his ever-shifting blue eyes; they reminded her of a fox and it was not a good thing. She was well aware that Howe believed her to be his way of regaining the castle that had once belonged to his family and that was another reason she wanted nothing to do with him. But her father was beckoning and she forced a smile. She couldn't refuse her father anything.

"Howe, you remember my daughter, Ffion," Bryce was saying as she reached them.

Howe's blue eyes flickered over her in an appraising sort of way that made her stiffen with displeasure. Tilly, in tune with her lady's feelings and thoughts unlike any other, let out a soft growl and her hackles were rising.

"Tilly," Ffion said quietly and gave Howe a short bow, "Arl, it is a pleasure to see you again."

"And you, my lady," Howe answered with a submissiveness that made her skin crawl, "It is a pity my son Thomas was detained. He would have enjoyed seeing you again."

Ffion could feel her father's warning glance. It was a rare thing and she knew he saved it solely for times like this. He was well aware of her tendency to speak long before she thought and her gift of sarcasm was unmatched. Her eyes were twinkling rather wickedly and, though for a moment she looked apologetic, it didn't last long.

"Your son, my lord? To what end, if I may ask?"

There was a surprised silence and Ffion distinctly heard Gilmore's chuckle come from the main door. She had to bite her tongue then and resist temptation to look at him.

"To what end?" Howe repeated and was chuckling himself, "Why, Cousland, your daughter has more of the Teyrna's spirit than you claimed."

"She certainly does," Bryce answered and his voice was filled with laughter. He fixed his grey-blue eyes on his daughter and looked like he was going to continue but Gilmore approached then.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, my lord," He said, "But there is a Ser Duncan asking for an audience."

"Of course, Roderick, send him in," Bryce was a little absentminded, trying to hear what Howe had asked the moment Gilmore spoke.

Ffion grasped the opportunity when she saw it and was at Gilmore's side the moment he waved for one of his men to admit this Duncan. He grinned broadly down at her, his green eyes dancing. She and Roderick Gilmore had grown up competing in everything and, though they had fought like cats and dogs when they were young, he had become Ffion's best friend, next to Tilly of course.

"I heard you successfully sicked Tilly on the larder," He teased, "Did she knick anything good?"

Ffion mocked indignation and then pouted to make him laugh.

"I did not _sick_ my dog on anything," She protested and gave in to that desire to chuckle, "And you learned long ago Tilly is always in it for her own gratification," The Mabari let out a pleased sounding _woof_ and Ffion added, "Well, what did they say? Do you get to go to Ostagar?"

Gilmore's face fell briefly, but it was not in his disposition to be pessimistic.

"No, but the commander did put me in charge of the guard here, so that's something."

"It certainly is," She answered and grinned, "It means you will be reporting to me after the men leave. Oh, this will be fun."

Gilmore chuckled again and could only imagine the schemes Ffion was cooking up. She had always idolized Fergus and emulated his mastery of pranks and practical jokes. It was incredible how much she looked like him when her thoughts turned mischievous and he was loathe to put a stop to it as he saw the Teyrn's quick glance.

"Your father's giving me the Look," He told her apologetically, "And you might like meeting Ser Duncan. But don't give this up and I'll try to slip away sometime during the feast. We need to have one last hoorah before those responsible for us are gone."

"I'll hold you to that, Rick," She promised and slipped back to the Teyrn's side.

"There you are, Pup," Bryce said and was at once his easygoing, pleasant self; he wouldn't have used that nickname otherwise, "I'd like you to run up and get Fergus but before you do I want to introduce Ser Duncan, a Grey Warden who will be traveling to Ostagar as well. Duncan, this is my daughter, Ffion."

Ffion gave the Grey Warden a much more formal bow than she gave Howe and studied him with open curiousity. The Warden was about her father's age, his skin coffee colored and the kind, clever eyes were nearly black. His hair, also black, hung to his shoulders with the sides pulled up and secured in a braid. There were touches of grey at his temples and his broad shoulders made him appear much taller than he was.

"It is a pleasure, Lady," He said and his voice was deep and calm, "I have heard tales of the Teyrn's daughter, both her skills in weaponry and her beauty. And I see now the latter did you no justice."

Ffion inclined her head to hide her wince and wasn't nearly quick enough. She caught the Warden's slight frown and felt her father's second warning glance. She knew it would be very unwise to allow her tongue to run away this time.

"Thank you, Warden. I hope you enjoy your stay in Highever," She murmured, "If you will excuse me, I must look after tonight's preparations and see my brother off."

She left the hall and stopped at the bottom of the stairway leading up to the private quarters. Her mother was standing with three others on the landing just above her, right at the entrance to the gardens and Ffion was grimacing before she could help it.

_Caught, damn it!_ Her mind told her as her mother glanced her way and she was looking around for an escape when footsteps rang from behind.

"Lady?" A voice called and she turned to find that the Grey Warden had followed her. He smiled as he approached and for a moment seemed rather self-conscious, "I apologize for detaining you, but I have to ask. Did I insult you? Please tell me if I have blundered, it was not what I intended."

Ffion was taken aback and suddenly wished she hadn't acted so childishly. That embarrassment; the frustration with being forced towards marriage when she wasn't ready; the desire to cast off all responsibilities and fight alongside her brother, were boiling over. Before she could keep herself in check, her true nature took hold and, as usual, her tongue ruled.

"Not at all, Warden. My father would tell you it is the Cousland strain in me taking over; my mother would sigh and explain it's my thickheaded refusal to settle down and marry. My sister-in-law would agree while my brother would laugh, allow his soldier to take over and tell you it is one of those woman's issues wreaking havoc with my..." She trailed off, coming to herself suddenly and remembering just who it was she was talking to in such a manner. Meeting his gaze, feeling her cheeks growing hot, and wishing she could melt into the floor, she added, "I'm sorry, my lord, I have a habit of speaking long before I think."

To her immense relief, Duncan was chuckling and the kindness in his eyes was even deeper than she thought. But along with that there was something more, a ruthless intelligence and a cruelty in the lines of his mouth that made him rather imposing if he chose. He was appraising her with much more interest this time and his look was piercing.

"And you do not like being known as a beauty?" He added.

Ffion was grinning now and thanking her stars this Warden turned out to be human.

"Precisely," She agreed briskly, "It has always been my contention that women should be known for bravery and valor on the field much as men are. We aren't all just marriage-ready vessels an Arl or Bann can show off. But that's the Cousland tongue again and of course you can't trust anything a noble says."

His appraising look had deepened and Ffion suddenly felt more self-conscious than she ever had before.

"If I thought it possible, Lady, I would take you with me to Ostagar when I go," He said softly and a look of real frustration marred his features briefly, "You have just the spirit those men need."

Ffion felt her heart leap at the prospect before her more rational side could squash it. How many times had she had that very thought? Her mind had gone wild with ideas of disguising herself as a boy and joining her brother's men after she heard where Fergus was headed. _Maker's breath!_ She _still_ had thoughts of it: until her adoration and respect for her parents got in the way.

"Warden, you should know better than to tempt a lady who already has half a mind to do just that," She reprimanded lightly and then added on a more serious note, "Are you leaving with Fergus, then?"

"No, Lady, I'm waiting for the Arl's men," He answered and the frustration had disappeared, "Though I am told they were delayed along the way."

Ffion nodded in understanding and knew she had tarried too long. She grasped at the only available opportunity that presented itself for further discussion with him.

"Well, Warden, if they are going to be late, join us for the feast. We would be honored to have you. Now I must go, I'm sorry. I have to prepare myself for what the Maker intended me to be."

"Would that I could make that more, Lady," He was being quite serious in spite of the teasing words.

"Don't lose heart yet, Warden."

Eleanor Cousland was alone on the landing when Ffion reached her and she fixed her daughter with an accusing stare. She was holding a watering can in one hand that she set down with more force than necessary and though her sea-green eyes were amused, the set of her jaw said otherwise. She studied her daughter and, for one of very few times, wished Ffion wasn't so like her. Eleanor had been raised the daughter of a general, was a warrior herself and had married for love. And now she saw so much of that in Ffion and hated squashing it. But the girl failed to realize her parents weren't going to be around forever and was absolutely silly about the mere suggestion of a suitor.

"Out of hiding, I see," She said, "Lady Landra and Dairren missed you."

"Oh, Maker's breath, Marmie," Ffion replied, "I know Dairren is Father's second, but honestly! The boy doesn't know the hilt from the blade of a sword and I actually caught him trying to fire _bolts_ with a longbow."

"He has improved much since you last saw him _two_ years ago now and he was sweet enough to ask about you," Her mother replied, plucking dead blooms from the bush at the entrance to the gardens, "I think you should give him a chance. He will be staying for the feast of course. Arl Howe's men will be very late."

"I suppose I shall have to ask Ser Aron's permission first?"

Eleanor frowned at her daughter, not liking the dancing grey eyes and impish grin.

"Who is Ser Aron?"

"Dairren's lover, apparently. He's an Antivan that Bann Loren hired as Dairren's squire and-"

"Ffion Cousland, don't you go spreading those kinds of vicious rumors!" Eleanor exclaimed, pulling so hard at one of the dead blooms, she broke off the whole branch. She brandished this at Ffion, "Bann Loren has been nothing but good to our family, Dairren is loyal to your father, and you say something like that!"

"I am not starting rumors," Ffion was laughing now, oblivious to her mother's flashing eyes, "I heard that from Fergus. Speaking of which, do you think he and Oriana are still saying goodbye? I don't want to interrupt anything and have to gouge out my eyes."

This time Eleanor smacked the arm closest to her with the broken branch before Ffion could dance out of the way. She shook her head, sighing.

"Oh, what am I going to do with you?" She asked quietly and realized even more poignantly she was fighting an uphill battle that was quickly becoming impossible.

"Why do you have to do anything with me?" Ffion asked immediately and picked a couple of dead blooms off the bush herself, "Keep me around as a court jester and use me for favors with any Bann or Arl that needs convincing. Or if _that_ thought is as appalling to you as me, let me go with the Warden. He mentioned it, you know."

Her mother was smiling in spite of herself. Her daughter's spirit was irrepressible and very contagious.

"The Warden was specifically told he couldn't talk of Conscripting either one of you," Eleanor answered and her tone had changed to what Ffion and Fergus dubbed 'the Rock', which merely meant there would be no changing her mind.

"I figured as much," Ffion sighed and then added as a means of retaliation, "I will have to go back to making the men cry when I best them at dual weaponry and plotting general chaos with Rick then."

She was leaving the landing, heading up the second flight of steps before her mother responded,

"Don't even, Ffion! If I see you for one moment with your head next to Roderick's, you are both going to regret the day you were born!"

* * *

**A/N, cont'd: **I know that the game has Gilmore's name as Roland, but I found on the Dragon Age wiki that the Dragon Age Origins Prima Official Game Guide (quite the title, right?) has him named Roderick. I liked that one more because I absolutely _detest_ the nickname Rory and it has a more Gaelic flair. Anyway, enough rambling, I'll post soon!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I'm so, so, so, so sorry! Fan fiction and I were having... issues, apparently. I kept getting an error message every time I tried to edit this story and I fairly flooded FF's support email trying to figure out what the problem was... and so continues a sometimes vicious cycle. Anyway, I'm back and I found that I really don't like my summary much. (But that's what you get for winging it, right?) All right, guys, enjoy, take care, and if all goes well, I'll post next week. (Hopefully on time)

* * *

Ffion had slept restlessly and when the first sounds of fighting reached her, she bolted upright. Tilly was growling furiously, her chestnut fur on end and ears laid flat against her skull. She tossed herself out of bed and to her wardrobe. Pulling on her duster leather armor and wondering what the hell was going on, considering she hadn't been alerted, she was frozen completely when the scream came. It was a piercing scream of pure terrified horror and when it was cut off abruptly, she knew just how much trouble everyone was in.

Tilly's growl spiked in violence and Ffion barely had time to fasten the last strap on her boot when the door burst open. The Mabari reacted like the warhound she was and launched herself at the archer standing there. The man wasn't expecting that and he stumbled back, going to the ground with Tilly's weight pinning him. He barely had time to utter a hoarse cry before the dog's teeth found his neck and he went still.

Ffion's own instincts kicked in as another soldier came at her door and a moment later he was dropped with one of her arrows jutting from his eye. She relaxed her arms stiffly and would have been shocked she had just killed another human if she hadn't caught sight of the room across from hers. With a hoarse cry, she ran over the flagstones and was falling to her knees next to the sprawled bodies of her sister-in-law and nephew.

"No, no, no, no," She moaned, reaching out to touch them. Her fingers brushed Oren's hair and she barely registered that she was trembling uncontrollably, "No, Oren... Oriana..."

Eyes smarting with tears, she felt rage welling within her. The scream was suddenly made clear and with the way Oriana was... posed, she did not have a quick or easy death. It was obvious she had been brutalized and raped: her clothing was torn and there were bruises and gashes everywhere. She had been kept alive for that reason and Ffion could only hope that Oren was gone before any of this happened. She wondered why she hadn't heard anything and burning fury made her back stiffen and the wish to kill more of those soldiers overpowering.

At that thought, she reached out once more, closing Oriana's staring eyes and pulling the blanket from the bed to cover her. It didn't seem right, leaving her own sister-in-law in such a way and as she was running her fingers through Oren's hair for the last time, the sobs hovering just beneath the surface threatened to overwhelm her. She got to her feet and reluctantly left them, sending one last, longing look back and closing the door of her brother's room. The tears almost won out as she realized she was closing a door on a portion of her life forever. She'd never hear Oren calling her 'Aunt Fifee' again or Oriana teasing her in that lilting Antivan accent; never feel that little pang she might be missing something as she looked at Fergus and his family...

Tilly's whimper broke these thoughts and she ran a hand across her eyes, wiping away the escaped tears. She heard quick, light footsteps and when she saw her mother; her relief was almost as debilitating as the tears had been. She hardly blinked at Eleanor's armor and she was grimly pleased she had thought to close the bedroom.

"Oh, darling, thank the Maker you're all right," Eleanor was looking around the hallway, her eyes lingering briefly on the dead men before settling on Fergus' door, "Have you checked on Oriana? I'm sure she and Oren are-"

"Mother, don't open the door," The last thing Ffion wanted was for her mother to see Oriana like that and she was surprised at how calm her voice was. So she wouldn't have to see the dawning realization on Eleanor's face, she bent to examine the dead men's armor, "Bastard! It's Howe's men! Delayed, my ass, this was intentional."

"They're gone?" Eleanor's voice was small and a quick glance told Ffion how close she was to breaking down, "Both of them?"

"Marmie," Ffion said uncertainly and took a step towards her, "I... yes, both of them. Please, Mother, where's Father? We have to-"

"I know," Eleanor's voice was suddenly clear and cold, her fury matching her daughter's. The warrior within her was taking over and her mind was jumping automatically to the next step they had to take, "Your father was with Howe. If these are his men..."

She didn't have to continue and both women bolted from the room with Tilly at their heels. Evidence of fighting was everywhere in the castle: there were busted doors, overturned shelves and tables, and the scattered bodies of hired help simply fueled their fire. They came across more of Howe's men in twos and threes but they didn't stand a chance, not when Eleanor and Ffion had the advantage of knowing the castle blindfolded. So far there was no sign of the Teyrn, though a couple from the handful of men left under Gilmore's command had found them and their number had now grown to 5. Ffion asked each of them where Gilmore was and none of them seemed to know. She hated this uncertainty and found herself looking searchingly at each body they came upon, praying with all her might they wouldn't turn out to be her father or friend.

When they reached the main hall, it was as though the dam broke. The rest of Gilmore's men were there, fighting to keep the massive doors closed against heavy battering from the outside. And there was Gilmore, bleeding from a deep gash in his forehead and looking grim and determined. When he saw Ffion rush into the hall, relief flooded his expression and he forgot what he doing as he uttered a sharp curse and left the doors to his men, crossing the room in quick strides to catch her up in his arms. It was proof of how scattered everyone was that no one blinked an eye at their falling into the old, familiar gestures of their friendship. Gilmore broke away and gripped her shoulders as he looked her over.

"I'm so glad you're safe," He said with palpable relief.

"Where's Father?" She asked, wincing each time a crash came against the door.

Gilmore looked stricken and he squeezed her shoulders briefly. His green eyes slid from hers and he was reluctant to go on.

"He was with the Warden the last time I saw him. He said something about escaping through the cellar."

"Of course!" Eleanor exclaimed, "The old servants' entrance! I had forgotten all about it. Come; gather your men, Roderick, and we'll get out that way."

Gilmore at once became a soldier, squaring his shoulders and lifting his head. Ffion felt her heart drop into her stomach as she recognized that stubborn look.

"I won't, Teyrna," He replied softly and wouldn't look at Ffion, "I have my duty here. My men and I will hold off Howe as long as we can to give you needed time. Move quickly, I don't know how much longer we can do this."

Eleanor looked on the verge of arguing but she could see it was no use. Ffion had no such qualms.

"No!" She cried and real fear stole through her. She grabbed his forearm, her fingertips white as she held tight to him, "No, Rick, come with us, please. I can't let you do this."

"You have to," He replied and was struck at this role reversal. In the past, it was always Ffion leading: she was the mastermind, plotting their next jokes, making plans to escape their lessons... And now she was looking up at him like a lost child, "You have to be strong, Fi, if Howe gets you... he wins and there will be no going back."

"That doesn't mean you can't come with us," She argued and both of them glanced worriedly at the doors when there was a resounding _crack_. Time was slipping away and so was Gilmore, "Rick-"

"Yes, it does," He replied gently and brushed her face with one hand, just skirting her temple. It was their sign when one or the other got into trouble: it meant 'your turn' and Ffion was crying now, "Go, Fi."

He was running to help his men hold the door and Eleanor grabbed her daughter's arm, ushering her away. Away from her best friend who, in the blink of an eye, had become the mature one; away from her link to childhood; away from the first boy she'd kissed, an awkward, painful memory they shared laughs over; away from one of the few people outside her family that had seen the true Ffion Cousland and loved her in spite of everything. That sarcastic, act first/ask later, innocent Ffion who took pride in being a mass of contradictions and she was leaving him to face fate alone. She shook herself and fired an arrow at the Howe soldier that stood in their way. He was dropped instantly and realization came over Ffion. She was closing yet another door in her life and she hated herself for it.

"He is a hero, darling," Her mother told her gently as they reached the kitchen safely, "Never forget that. He's giving-"

"Don't, Marmie, please," Ffion interrupted, her voice broken.

They entered the kitchen to find it ransacked and Ffion wondered if it was just hours ago that she had saved Nan's larder and Tilly's life. The larder where, just visible in the flickering torchlight, was a pair of feet and Ffion didn't need to see anymore to tell her who it was. _Oh, Nan!_ She thought, her strength disappearing at her mother's sharp gasp. Ffion pulled her towards the cellar as Eleanor cruelly began to cry. There was a quiet call from within and Ffion was once more sinking to her knees beside someone she loved.

"Papa," She murmured, trying to ignore her mother's tears as she gathered her husband in her arms, "No, Papa."

Bryce's blue-grey eyes opened and he glanced between his wife and daughter uncertainly before it came back to him just where he was. His face, pale with the excessive blood-loss, brightened slightly and he removed one of the blood-coated hands from his ribs to fumble for Ffion's.

"Thank... the Maker," He whispered and squeezed hard on Ffion's fingers. She hardly registered it; she didn't even realize when Duncan sank to his knees beside her, "I... was... so afraid..."

"Don't try to talk, darling," Eleanor told him, "Save your strength."

"My love... you know... I... it's too... late," His voice was below a whisper and the gentle smile seemed to take some effort.

"No!" Ffion heard the hysterical note in her voice and didn't care, "No, Papa, not you. I won't let you go, too. No."

"Oh, Pup... Be strong... your mother will... need... you... now-" His cough was thick and blood stained his lips red, "More... than ever."

"No, Bryce darling, I will not leave you," In spite of the tears coursing down her cheeks, Eleanor's voice was strong. Her sea-green eyes met Ffion's and she added, "You, dear, must go on. Find your brother, take revenge on that bastard Howe, and live your lives. Live for your father and me and never forget the sacrifices made by those who love you."

"I will look after her, my friends," Duncan's deep voice, at one time so calming to hear, so soothing, was now bringing about Ffion's desertion of her parents and she hated him for it, "She will come to no harm with me."

"Go, darling," Eleanor implored as there was a crash and shouting from somewhere nearby in the castle, "We love you and we always will."

She leaned over, kissing Ffion's forehead and giving her the shortblade in her belt. Before Ffion knew it, she was kissing her father's cheek, pressing her forehead to his long enough to hear his gasped,

"I... love you... Pup."

And then Duncan was taking her arm and pulling her away. The last image she had of her parents before that last door closed, joining Fergus' family and Gilmore, was a shared kiss and her mother's blazing expression as she faced her death.

* * *

The trip to Ostagar was a blur to Ffion. They were forced to make good time, putting miles between them and Howe so they would have some semblance of a chance when he realized who was missing from the massacre. After that first night, miserable and sleepless, when she sobbed until her strength was gone, she didn't think she cared whether she lived or died. Duncan was incredibly patient and never pushed her one way or the other. He understood her need to grieve and merely stood by, not saying a word unless he felt she needed it.

Instead he watched her. Sometimes he fixed her with the piercing gaze that left her feeling utterly exposed and she would have demanded to know what he wanted if she really cared. It wasn't until the third day into their travels that she finally caved and asked him if there was something wrong. It was one of the few times she had spoken since they started and she was sure she looked as surprised as him at the sound of her voice. Even then he was conscious of her pain and responded simply that he wanted to know if she still had 'it'. Grief put second for that moment, she had to ask what he meant. With a rather rueful smile, he explained,

"I told you, you had the spirit the other men lacked and you have been through more in the past 3 days to kill that. I have to make sure you still have it."

Her eyes glittered a paler grey in the light of their campfire. She was leaning against Tilly's warm weight and something about her relaxed pose told him she was becoming an incredibly dangerous person.

"Do I?"

Duncan became enigmatic as he shrugged his shoulders and replied that he would let her know. Which he fully intended but he was going to have to wait and watch before he committed to any answer. The first night, he wasn't going to count. There was no one who could live through what she had and come out the same person a mere 24 hours later. The second, he thought it likely she would simply waste away into nothing and the third day worked to cement this until they staked camp and she asked him about his scrutiny. They had gone on to discuss his past and the Wardens and he began to hope. It would have been sheer idiocy to expect the same girl to return and she didn't. The one who took her place was older, harsher, with a new-found streak of cruelty that could work in her favor as long as she kept it from consuming her. That fiery spirit that first drew him to her had become ice and was running even deeper. He looked at her now and found himself hating to be in the Arl's shoes when this revenge-bent, grief-filled girl caught up with him.

Ffion waited until the 6th night to ask again and Duncan had to tell her: yes, she was still there. He, in turn, then asked her to join the Wardens when they reached Ostagar and she didn't hesitate in accepting. She knew it would be the best way to get at Howe and that was the only thing she could focus on now, other than Fergus... Her desire to see her older brother was wrestling with the abhorrence for having to tell him what happened, but then they reached Ostagar and the sheer intimidation of the place scattered all those thoughts from her head.

The ruin was huge and beautiful in its fractured walls and broken towers. The stones were a brilliant white underneath the grime of years; the early summer sun testified to this. From within came the sounds of an army settling and Tilly's ears were pricking forward when they caught the resounding barks of other Mabari. Ffion let her hand fall to the heavy head bobbing at her waist and she felt a pang of guilt. Tilly had been so patient with her, never letting her lady out of her sight and Ffion, wrapped in her grief, had been neglecting her. With a soft, rather questioning whine, Tilly was walking a little closer and Ffion spoke softly,

"Things will be better now, girl. I'm glad you're here."

They were entering the ruin, the two sentries standing down as they recognized Duncan, before they spotted four men approaching. All were wearing Silverite armor; the kind Fergus favored, three of them wore sets of burnished silver while the fourth was resplendent with a gold finish. There was an emblem of a dragon artfully crafted into the breastplate; an image that grew clearer with time, and there was a beautifully mastered longsword secured at the man's back. Ffion let out a breath as she realized it was King Cailan himself and she dropped a bow as he greeted Duncan warmly.

"Hello, it is you, Duncan," He said jovially, clasping hands with the Warden, "The scouts said it resembled you but instead of an army you were accompanied by just a sole warrior. Did something go awry?"

"One could say that, sire," Duncan answered.

Cailan frowned and spared a quick glance at Ffion who had remained silent. He clearly didn't like this.

"Were Howe's men detained or were you ambushed? Come, Duncan, we depended on those soldiers, what is it?"

"Perhaps we can discuss this further in, Majesty? It is not a pleasant tale."

Cailan's blue eyes flickered between them again and his brows furrowed more deeply. Knocking a short lock of blonde hair away with one hand, he locked gazes with Duncan.

"We can talk on the way," He said as he stepped back slightly and cast an arm at the ruin.

It was spoken pleasantly enough but there was no arguing with him and Duncan stole a look at Ffion's set, grim face before inclining his head and falling into step beside the king. The soldiers waited for Tilly and Ffion before forming a protective half-circle behind all four of them. Ffion remained silent as Duncan relayed Howe's attack on the castle. She vainly tried to distract herself with their surroundings but kept hearing Oriana's scream, seeing those scattered bodies, feeling Gilmore's tender caress and her parents' kisses...

"He will pay for his treachery, lady," The king's voice broke through, "I will not stand for this."

Ffion gave herself a little shake. She could feel the soldiers watching her and she inclined her head.

"Thank you. I wonder, Majesty, did my brother, Ser Fergus, arrive safely?"

"He did, lady," Cailan was pleased to tell her this news. The blaze of passionate anger on his handsome face softened some and Ffion could see evidence of 'good King Cailan' in that, "Though I believe he is out scouting now."

Ffion had expected as much and in spite of wanting to see him, share the grief; she couldn't help but be relieved that it wasn't going to be right away. Not wanting any other questions on this topic, the last thing she needed was to break down in front of the king, she took the initiative.

"Are the armies prepared here, then?"

They all started walking again; heading across what had been a massive bridge. There were chunks of stone missing from the edges here and there, but the view of the Korkari Wilds to the south and the mountain ranges to the east was breathtaking. Ffion had to remind herself to listen to the king when he answered her.

"Yes, fully. We were waiting for Howe's men but that is a moot point now," Cailan's voice had become excited, "Our scouts have told us the emergence of Darkspawn is becoming more and more prominent in the southwest. They think the onslaught could come as soon as tomorrow. I confess, I thought there might have been more resistance. We have already won several skirmishes and there has been no sign of an Archdemon."

"Disappointed, sire?" Duncan asked mildly.

They had reached the other end of the bridge and stopped again at the top of a flight of steps. Ffion looked away from the amazing view to study the king. His features hardened a little but it wasn't with anger at Duncan: it was clear he was truly unhappy there was no risk of a great and terrible monster that could mean the end of life as they knew it. He was thinking about his answer and Ffion found herself fascinated by the bustling sprawl beneath her. The sight of a true army camp had never ceased to astound her and now was no exception. Men and women were scurrying everywhere, voices blurring together in a steady hum. Barking dogs and the crash of metal on metal broke through every now and then and the flags of nobility were rustling in the gentle breeze.

"I was hoping for the old tales," Cailan finally replied, "When the armies of Ferelden and the Grey Wardens would defeat the Darkspawn and usher in a time of peace. And now... I'm not even sure this is a real Blight."

"Well, I for one hope it is not, sire," Duncan said ruefully.

"I knew you would say that, Duncan," The king chuckled, "Ah, well, if this is all it ends up being, I suppose I will have to be content. At least I am given the chance to fight alongside you. And now, I must take my leave. Loghain wanted to discuss tactics and I should go to him before he starts sending out search parties. I will keep my promise, Lady Cousland, trust me. And if I see your brother, I shall send him your way."

Ffion bowed again and the four men departed, leaving her alone with Duncan. Tilly was pressed against her and she let out a questioning whine. One hand dropped to the Mabari's head as Ffion met the Warden's gaze.

"You believe this to be a Blight," She wasn't asking.

With a half smile, Duncan motioned her down the steps and fell in beside her.

"More than anything, Cailan has wanted a rule like his father's: everything from Chasind to handfuls of country loving rebels defeating hell-bent hordes," He explained and nodded to those that hailed him, "What he fails to understand is how the Blight spreads. If he did, he would be more sober about all of this. Odd attacks; Orzammar has reported quieted Deep Roads; Darkspawn are leaping from the very earth and storming villages miles apart... all of this is indicative of a coming Blight."

"And Cailan wants nothing more than to be a hero," Once more it wasn't a question and Ffion was studying her surroundings.

Tents of all colors were grouped together against available wall space and she knew from the emblem on the banners, the most luxurious ones belonged to the king and his escorts. A massive tent tucked away in a corner on its own apart from another very orderly one made her frown.

"I suppose the Chantry fought tooth and nail to keep the Circle out of this?" She questioned, recognizing the tower and clouds of the Circle of Magi on one banner and the golden sun of the Chantry on the other.

"I don't think Denerim's revered mother will ever speak to me again," Duncan was using that half mocking, half serious tone and he cast her an amused smile, "Not that it would be any great loss."

He was rewarded with a mere ghost of her usual smile and a partial shrug. Her shadowed grey eyes were searching the crowds and he knew she was looking for her brother, nevermind Cailan's assurances he was scouting. Thinking quickly, wanting to keep her distracted, he made an offer.

"The Grey Warden camp is just to the left of Cailan's. You can go there now and rest if you like; I have some business to attend to. Or if you prefer to explore a little, seek out another Warden by the name of Alistair," He saw the flickering in her eyes that told him this was more to her liking, "If he is not at the camp, try the quartermaster. His shop is near the Chantry tent. While you're at it, see what he has for sale. Leaving so abruptly... I'm sure I gave you enough sovereigns."

"More than enough, Warden," She said rather dryly and made him smile, thinking of how she loathed accepting that purse.

"Duncan," He corrected, "You will be a sister soon and Grey Wardens lose all but their first names, remember? The only thing I ask is that you don't leave the ruin, not yet. And good luck. Alistair has a certain... talent for upsetting the wrong people."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Okay, because I still feel guilty about being so late last time, and since I'll be gone this weekend, I'm posting early. Enjoy, guys!

* * *

He disappeared into the crowds and Ffion wound her way to the Warden camp. She was told Alistair had gone to the southern courtyard and was supposed to be delivering a message to one of the mages there. Heading that way, she stopped briefly at the quartermaster's when she saw she was walking right by him. She was pleased he had much more for sale than armor and weapons and proceeded to buy extra arrows, food for Tilly, changes of clothes, health poultices and flasks so she could brew her own. The array of impressive weapons she left alone. The two blades slung at her back were enough: one was the red steel shortblade her father had made for her 20th birthday and the other was the family sword that her mother thrust into her hands just before Duncan pulled her from the cellar. Her emotions had gone wild when she had discovered just what the sword meant and she had had a hard time stemming the onslaught of tears that had threatened to overcome her. But she was getting very good at pushing these sudden breaks to the back of her mind and though she knew in time it was going to catch up with her, she couldn't worry about that now.

She left the quartermaster with Tilly shadowing her and ascended a short flight of steps to the southern courtyard. There were men and women practicing here and she could see why. There was space enough to allow for both swordplay and archery and she skirted those training, looking for a mage and a soldier. Unfortunately there were several of both and it wasn't until she had walked the entire length of the courtyard that Tilly's ears pricked and she could hear the sound of a voice raised in anger.

"I don't care what the revered mother _desires_! If she can't come to tell me herself than I can't be persuaded it is something I need to know!"

"That is precisely what she wanted," Another voice answered and its tone was condescending to the point of an insult, "She had to meet with you personally and you will have to ask her why she couldn't come herself."

The other didn't seem to hear.

"And as for cornering me-"

"Cornering you? Well, yes, you were here already, but you wanted to speak apart from everyone else and I am just the messenger. You can't-"

"_I_ am done with this conversation and I will tell the revered mother not to send you again," The voice had become quite cold and as Ffion came around one of the pillars that had long ago supported the ceiling, a mage swept by her, "Out of my way, fool!"

She almost wished Tilly would have acted and then was glad she hadn't. It would have been too much trouble, besides the soldier she now knew had to be Alistair was looking at her curiously and she smiled faintly.

"At least we're all working together," She observed.

"That's right," He agreed, "The great thing about the Blight is all the good-hearted cooperation you receive from your fellow man."

She studied him as openly as he studied her. He was tall and broad shouldered with reddish-blonde hair and eyes the color of pale honey. His features were rather bold: his nose long and straight, set over a broad mouth, the corners of which upturned naturally, giving him a pleasant appearance. He was smiling charmingly at her and she was surprised she took note of how handsome he was.

"You must be Alistair," She said as she realized the silence was becoming awkward, "Duncan sent me to find you."

"Whew," He replied and Ffion liked the boyish grin he gave her, "I was worried you would turn out to be another mage. You're not, are you?"

She spread her arms a little.

"Do I look like one?"

"Nope, you'll just have to excuse the paranoia of an ex-almost Templar. You're the new recruit Duncan brought with him, then?"

"Ffion," She shook his hand and debated whether or not to give her surname. Deciding against it and wondering if Alistair would keep this friendly openness, she motioned to where the hostile mage had disappeared, "And apparently he doesn't appreciate your past?"

Alistair lifted his shoulders in a shrug, his splintmail clinking with the movement. He cocked his head and considered her question before answering,

"The revered mother was trying to come up with a way to tell the Circle just how little she likes their presence here and sending an ex-Templar seemed to be the best way. Brilliant, don't you think?" He gave her a searching look but it was all curiousity, "You know, I haven't heard of many women Wardens. We have some here, of course, but all of them are mages and tend to avoid me. I wonder why there aren't more that Join."

"Perhaps because we are smart enough to avoid all this hell before it has a chance to start?" She replied and waved a hand, "We should be getting back."

Ffion started walking the length of the courtyard, intent on heading back to the Warden tent whether he came along or not. But he was already falling into step next to her and she could feel his eyes on her as they wound their way through the men and women.

"Fair enough," He agreed, "But what does that make you?"

"So damn unlucky."

This was the first time she had felt even remotely like the old Ffion and it felt good to make Alistair laugh. It was a nice sound: cheerful, like he enjoyed doing so. There was something comforting about the fact that life still went on no matter what happened elsewhere and for the first time since that night two weeks ago, there was a little lift in her heart that felt like hope.

"Sad, huh? Well, at least you aren't alone in this. There are two other recruits wandering around here somewhere, too. Only that just means we'll probably have to track them down to get things rolling. You'll still have to go through the Ritual."

"The Ritual?" Ffion repeated as the Warden camp came into view. Duncan had mentioned a Joining, not a Ritual, and she wondered if they were one and the same, "A very encouraging name, I have to say."

"You don't have to tell me," He responded as Duncan's fire came into view, "But that's all I can say. Top-secret Warden business. My lips are sealed."

Ffion was on the verge of asking whether he could answer a question without having to temper it with a joke, but Duncan was standing in front of the campfire they were approaching. Two men were with him: one tall and heavily built, with dark red hair that reminded her painfully of Gilmore and the other smaller than Alistair, black haired and his lively hazel eyes were watching her with pleasure. Duncan smiled briefly at her and then leveled a look at Alistair.

"There you are," He said briskly, "Now, if you are done harassing the mages, Alistair, we will begin the Joining ritual while daylight is with us."

"The revered mother cornered me," Alistair protested and there was that boyish grin again, "What was I to do?"

"I find it difficult to believe the revered mother would instruct you to bully the Circle."

"Really?" Ffion cut in, "Things must differ here drastically from the north."

Duncan capitulated and shrugged his shoulders slightly. He caught the approving smile Alistair sent her, as well as the way the other two were watching the newest recruit. He changed the subject to get them back on track.

"Ffion, this is Daveth and Jory," He said waving first to the brunette and then the broad shouldered redhead, "Jory, Daveth, this is Ffion, another new recruit."

"And a woman," Daveth replied and still hadn't looked away from her.

Ffion's brows arched up and, on cue, Tilly growled softly. Alistair looked amused while Jory and Duncan were both a little annoyed.

"It would seem so," She answered with a brief glance down at her body. Her grey eyes went back to Duncan and she made it clear she was dismissing Daveth completely, "What does the Joining entail, exactly?"

The Warden was pleased with her tactics and followed to keep them on this topic.

"Alistair will be leading you into the Wilds where you will gather vials of Darkspawn blood," He said, looking around at each of them to gauge their reactions, "Also I'd like you to search the ruins just to the west. There used to be a Grey Warden fortress in these parts years ago and some valuable papers had been stored in one of the towers. It may be fruitless, but I want to know either way."

"Papers?" Ffion questioned, her curiousity getting the better of her, "What kind of papers?"

"Old treaties, if you want to know," Duncan replied and then glanced at Alistair, "If you're ready, Alistair, you should start now and be back before nightfall."

Alistair found himself watching the newest recruit with interest. He had been a Grey Warden for a little more than 6 months and the other women Wardens were all older than him. There had been only men in the group that Joined with him and he was curious to see how a woman would deal with what had to be done. She and her dog had fallen in behind the others as a sort of rearguard when they left Ostagar and the Mabari was like her second shadow. She was looking at their surroundings with interest and the few times he met her gaze, she would give him a half smile. There was something about her grey eyes and the smile that was sad and haunted and it made him want to make her really, genuinely, laugh.

Ffion, in her turn, felt the men's scrutiny, Alistair's more than the others'. Daveth was still leering at her and Jory was wondering just what good a woman would be out here, she was sure. She could feel his doubt and didn't let it bother her in the least. She was used to having to prove herself to the Cousland soldiers and she didn't expect this to be much different.

They had not gone far before they came across the ruins of a few overturned carts and the scattered bodies of men and monsters that could only be the Darkspawn. Ffion forgot her grief and heavy heart to look over these creatures with great interest. She had only read of them in books and nothing prepared her for the sight of them. Their skin was dark grey and grimy, wrinkled deeply, and the few eyes that were open were red or yellow. Tilly was sniffing amongst them with distaste and suddenly she was growling and snarling softly. Ffion moved to her instinctively, hoping none of the men tried to stop the Mabari. She didn't feel like dealing with missing fingers. The dog was lowering her heavy head and her ears were folding back. One of the first human bodies they passed was stirring and he was groaning. Ffion called to Alistair, settling on her heels next to the wounded man to keep Tilly at bay.

"What happened here?" Alistair questioned, crouching beside her and reaching out to steady the soldier as he tried to sit up.

Ffion wordlessly handed a health poultice over and watched as he tended the man's wounds. They weren't too severe and the soldier was more scared than anything else. He described the massacre in a shaking voice,

"We were making for Ostagar last night when they came from... everywhere, from the ground and we... we were outnumbered. Some of the men made a break for the ruin to get help, but they... didn't make it. I was hit on the head then and I don't remember much more," His eyes went around rather frantically and he was stronger now after Alistair's ministrations, "I have to get to Ostagar. The commanders need to know what happened and I won't sit around like... like a lamb waiting for the slaughter. If you were wise, you'd come with me and if not... Maker go with you."

The soldier got to his feet gingerly and hurried back the way they had come. Ffion watched him go, feeling faintly disgusted with the man's cowardice. The sound of Jory's uncertain voice drew her attention and she caught Alistair's gaze momentarily. He clearly shared her thoughts and he gave her another lopsided, boyish grin as they got to their feet.

"Well, then what is there to hope for?" Jory was saying and his brown eyes were looking much like the other soldier's had.

"Jory," Alistair began soothingly.

"They had a whole troop and we are only four," The other continued, "How can we expect to make it back alive?"

"Because I'm here," Alistair was not being arrogant; there was no conceit in his voice. He was simply stating a fact, "Grey Wardens are able to sense the Darkspawn so they will not be able to surprise us as they did these men."

"So you see, knight," Daveth cut in brightly and his hazel eyes danced, "We'll at least have some warning before we die."

Jory seemed a little convinced when Alistair chuckled with an affirmative wave at Daveth and Ffion smiled. But he still had to get the last word in.

"That doesn't set my heart at ease and I'm more inclined to side with the soldier after seeing all of this," His arms spread to indicate the carnage and he added gloomily, "This isn't encouraging."

"Ser Jory," Ffion said softly and heard her voice taking on that same edge her mother's used to when someone tried to pull the wool over her eyes, "Duncan would not have sent us out here if there was a chance we wouldn't return. Besides, there's the start of the ruins he was talking about. We won't even be out of sight of the watchmen."

Alistair was agreeing again but his face lost that jovial expression. Instead, his whole stance had become a little rigid and his honey colored eyes were lighting with the aspect of battle.

"Ffion's right," He said absentmindedly, "And here's my chance to prove it. Prepare yourselves, something's ahead."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Well, back from beautiful, warm San Diego where I got sun burned in April! I was actually really excited about it until it started to hurt. :-p Anyway, here's the next installment, ladies and gentlemen, and enjoy! catalinaD

* * *

Ffion instantly loosed her bow from her back and shifted the swords and quiver within easy reach. They pressed on and the men were jockeying her behind them. Not that she minded. This way it would be much easier for her to take out the threats with her bow and not risk the others in friendly fire. They were slowly rounding a knoll and a fierce snarl greeted them. The lowland they entered was suddenly teeming with a dozen of the ugly Darkspawn that really did seem to spring from the ground. The nearest was a mere 10 yards from them and Ffion was taking it out before the men could even blink. Alistair recovered and was shouting orders,

"Ffion, the archers and the Emissary!" He hollered as he set his shield, "Jory and Daveth, with me! Take out the biggest threats first!"

She didn't need to be told twice. The fletching of her arrow tickled her cheek as she took out a lone archer some 30 yards away and the second was dropped a moment later. Tilly brought down a particularly vicious creature that was making its way at her lady and Ffion couldn't have been more thankful. She sidestepped a little and aimed for what Alistair had called the Emissary. It was a hulking thing that had come partway down the hillside across from them, moving within range to fire spells at their party. The men were holding their own with the last half dozen Darkspawn and she concentrated on the Emissary that was bobbing around so much, she didn't have a clean shot.

Alistair was moving gracefully, ducking underneath the well-aimed blow from a Hurlock and straightening again to mercilessly cut it down. His eyes landed on Ffion who seemed frozen in the process of shooting the Emissary and hollered her name, to no avail. Cursing roundly under his breath, dodging the spell flung at them and taking out the Genlock coming at him, he bolted for the Emissary, intent on killing it himself. Something buzzed past his ear as he did so, just grazing his cheek and a second later the Emissary was down, a red fletched arrow piercing its eye. He quickly turned back to the party to see Ffion drop the bow at her feet and pull her short blades loose. She leaped at the Hurlock that was besting Daveth, the blades flashing in the sunlight and a moment later, the monster was on the ground at her feet, headless. Her expression was one of such vindictive pleasure as she looked down on it that he found himself praying he never ended up on her bad side. Jory took out the last monster and Alistair returned to them.

Ffion bent and wiped the Darkspawn blood off on the grass like it was a common occurrence and didn't stop to think about the magnitude of what she had seen and taken part in. Daveth was heaping thanks on her and she waved him off impatiently.

"Don't worry about it," She interrupted and glanced at Alistair while Tilly cantered about happily, pleased with herself, "We are meant to look after each other, right? So leave it at that. Do you have any empty vials, Alistair?"

"Um, oh yeah, of course," He fumbled at his belt and handed over a small glass vial with a cork stopper, "We just have to fill three of these. One for each, in other words. And, Ffion, I know you probably had your own reasons for hesitating, but next time I ask you to shoot-"

"It kept moving," She interrupted as she crouched and sliced open the wrist of the Hurlock she had killed. Deep red, near black, blood was slowly dripping into the vial, "I needed it to hold still to get a clear shot and you gave me that chance."

Alistair blinked, not expecting that. He had never understood how archers managed and knew he couldn't berate her now. Not when she proved she knew precisely what she was doing. He remained at a loss but she didn't need his answer. Jory and Daveth were moving amongst the other dead and she got to her feet to join them but not before adding,

"Although next time, Alistair, if you want to play bait and run the risk of friendly fire, don't let me stop you."

He was instantly amused but wasn't given the chance to respond. They had finished gathering what they could of the Darkspawn blood and Alistair was wordlessly motioning them forward. His expression told them what to expect and no sooner did they round a second knoll and cross a worn bridge to the feet of the ruins did more Darkspawn appear. This next wave was larger than the first and Ffion wasted no time in taking out the three archers and two Emissaries that lorded over the rest. The men made quick work of the others, moving together as though they had been doing this for years. Tilly had the distinction of bringing down the last monster and the vials of blood were easily topped off. Alistair assured them of safety and they ventured further into the ruins.

Ffion and Tilly wandered a little apart from the men and Ffion was studying the broken walls and crumbling stairs. The Wilds were gradually creeping in, taking back what had been theirs. Ivy was growing thick on the remaining walls and most of the massive flagstones were gone. She could hear the voices of the men close by and ducked into the dilapidated remnants of a tower. It was the type of room that was usually hidden beneath the tower steps, but all that was left were short sections of wall and heaps of rocks that had recently been sifted. There was a quick gleam of sunlight off varnished wood and Ffion stepped closer, pulling a few stones loose to look more closely and calling to Alistair. Sure enough it was a chest and, to her dismay, she saw that it had already been ransacked. She glanced up at Alistair as he stepped over a section of wall and stopped next to her.

"We were too late," She observed and was studying the sun as it lowered in the sky, "Or do you think there is a second cache?"

Alistair was crouching, moving more stones and examining what was left of the chest. Jory and Daveth were standing just outside the tower, speaking quietly, and Ffion frowned down at Tilly when the dog pressed close. There was a static humming as a swarm of insects passed within a few yards and disappeared into the bushes. Tilly's brown eyes followed them distrustfully and she was hampering Ffion's legs as she turned back to Alistair when he spoke,

"No, this is it. See there?" He pointed to a faint engraving of a griffon in the face of the chest, "That griffon? That's the Wardens' symbol. Duncan was right, this was a lost cause."

"Well, well, well, what manner of vultures are these?" A new voice said and Ffion had to grab Tilly's collar to prevent her from charging, "Strange birds that cause chaos instead of pursue it. Tell me, birds, what do you mean by disrupting the peace in my woods?"

The men reacted instantly, drawing their blades and leaping to attention. Jory and Daveth were pressing up next to Alistair, once more jockeying Ffion behind them as a woman stepped out from the bushes where the insects had disappeared. She was tall for a woman with black hair piled up in a bun at the back of her head. Her face was angular: cheekbones stood proud under wide eyes and her lips were full and voluptuous over her sharp chin. She was watching them with an arrogant expression, one perfect brow lifted and her arms crossed over her chest. This particular move drew attention to her interesting garb and Ffion was worried... something was going to be exposed. Heavy folds of deep purple criss-crossed her chest and were secured around her slender waist, leaving little to the imagination. Her leggings and boots were both black and her belt was heavy with pouches of all sizes. The worn staff slung at her back made Alistair stiffen and he was speaking without looking away from her,

"Take care of her, Ffion. She's a witch."

His cold voice was unforgiving and Daveth and Jory's expressions became more than a little frightened. Ffion realized the magnitude of this news and, though there was a quick stab of apprehension, she didn't act on it. Mages outside the Circle were not good news, but there was nothing about this woman that would call for that drastic a measure. She found herself studying the witch with interest and saw that her strange yellow eyes were fixed on Alistair in annoyance. To prevent either one of them acting on their distrust, Ffion dropped the hand on her bow to the top of Tilly's head and replied mildly,

"I'm not about to shoot an unarmed woman, no matter what she might be."

The witch's gaze flashed to her and there was a sudden kinship between them as they both stood up to the bullheaded men.

"'Unarmed'?" Alistair repeated, "Ffion, she's a witch, a _Chasind_, and she would cut us down without flinching if she had a chance."

"She's already had her chance," Ffion argued and was meeting the witch's gaze again, "Several times, no doubt, and didn't act. I'll trust that. We are Grey Warden recruits, Lady, with the army at Ostagar. I'm Ffion and these are Alistair, Jory, and Daveth."

The witch seemed amused and rather flattered at Ffion's politeness.

"'Tis an odd place to find such manners," She observed and uncrossed her arms to give them a short bow; "You may call me Morrigan. But you have not entirely answered my question. Why would Grey Wardens take sudden interest in a ruin abandoned centuries ago? Vultures you are, swooping for prey that has already been devoured."

"I would rather do the swooping," Alistair's voice was dripping with sarcasm, "In any other circumstance, swooping would be bad."

Before Morrigan could reply or Ffion mediate, Daveth was adding his two bits, his voice shaking with fear,

"Be careful. If she's a witch and we make her angry, she'll turn us all into toads or worse."

"Quit being ridiculous," Ffion replied sharply, not in the least bit patient with them anymore. Her grey eyes went back to Morrigan, "'Already been devoured?' So the treaties are gone then?"

At the witch's curt nod, Alistair exploded.

"You stole them!" He exclaimed, "_Swooping_ down where you don't belong and taking what wasn't yours! You... you sneaking... witch-thief!"

Morrigan's eyebrows were dangerously close to disappearing into her hair and even Ffion had to glance questioningly at the ex-Templar. He had seemed so levelheaded and collected when they first met and now he wasn't much better than Daveth.

"Now who is swooping where they do not belong?" Morrigan's yellow eyes were glinting dangerously, "If you do not watch your feet, Warden, someone may cut them from under you. It was not me who took your papers, 'twas my mother."

"Is it possible to speak with her?" Ffion asked without much hope.

It wasn't her place to take that initiative and Alistair was quick to point this out.

"Now wait a minute, Ffion," He interrupted shortly, "We're not about to follow a Chasind into Maker knows where."

"Duncan wanted these treaties and we have a chance to retrieve them," She answered easily with enviable calm, "Besides, there doesn't have to be a _we_. If you like, you can wait here and Tilly and I will be back."

Morrigan was watching the colors change in Alistair's face as his eyes flashed and she grinned wickedly.

"I like you, Warden," She said to Ffion and was turning back to the woods with a quick motion of one hand, "I will show you the way to my mother and you can ask her for your treaties."

Ffion and Tilly were following after her without another glance. Grudgingly, wanting nothing more than to give the newest recruit a piece of his mind, Alistair was gesturing to the others and falling in behind the women.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **I'm late again, I know, but here's the next chapter and I made some _slight_ altercations. I know Flemeth doesn't confess who she is until after Ostagar, but I couldn't really understand why, so I changed that around. Sadly, Dragon Age is still not mine, (sigh), here's to hoping! Enjoy! catalinaD

* * *

Morrigan's mother lived in a small, neat hut at the edge of a swamp and was sitting outside the door as if she had known they were coming all along. She got to her feet, setting aside her sewing and watching them approach with eyes the same color as her daughter's. Her grey and white hair was cut just at her shoulders and the features that were soft in Morrigan's face were sharp in hers, creased with age. She was just a shade shorter than her daughter but Ffion was still the smallest amongst them and she didn't allow it to intimidate her. She stepped forward when the men stopped several yards away and squared her shoulders as she gave the old woman a small bow.

"Grey Wardens from Ostagar, Mother," Morrigan said in a bored voice as she stepped closer to the hut, "They have questions about treaties that have been stolen by... witch-thieves."

She added this with a withering glance in Alistair's direction. The ex-Templar stiffened and, as if to prove he was no coward, was positioning himself next to Ffion.

"Let them speak for themselves, girl," The old woman was saying and her voice was ancient and a little scratchy: like she had a cold she just couldn't get rid of.

"She's right, Lady," Ffion commented, "Morrigan told us that you have the treaties that were in that chest."

"Such manners," Her faded yellow eyes were dancing as though Ffion had just told her an amusing joke, "I wonder, would you be as polite if you knew what I really was, child?"

Ffion was glancing side-long at Alistair before she could help it. The ex-Templar shrugged, clearly as lost as she.

"Is there a reason I wouldn't be, Lady?" She questioned and was frowning at Morrigan's soft sigh and eye roll.

"'What if she's trying to tell us that the rumors are true?" Daveth hissed, "What if she really is a Witch of the Wilds?"

The old woman cackled and pressed her hands together in delight.

"'Witch of the Wilds?'" She repeated, "Morrigan has been boasting again. The girl enjoys such things. Oh, watch how she dances in the moonlight!"

Morrigan's look was pure poison as she glared at her mother and seethed at her antics. Her fists clenched at her sides and she was replying sharply,

"They did not come to hear your wild tales, Mother, nor your feats as the great and terrible Flemeth."

Alistair took a full step back and Daveth and Jory swore audibly. Ffion simply arched a brow, studying Flemeth with curiousity, but disbelief, as the old woman cackled again. She had heard the stories, much like everyone else, about Flemeth being the very first Witch of the Wilds: a woman that was more magic then mortal with a talent for disposing of men using fear alone. Ffion's response was always that she would be safe because she was a woman and therefore had a sort of immunity.

"_The_ Flemeth?" She asked and her voice was lost under Jory's.

"I told you this was a stupid thing to do! If being a Warden means dealing with witches, then I am done!"

Flemeth frowned at him as Daveth nodded vigorously and they both began walking backwards. Alistair at least remained where he was next to Ffion, who was still thinking about what she had been told.

"You don't believe this?" Flemeth asked, turning her attention back to Ffion, "Or does your woman's mind give you different insights then these fools with you?"

Alistair made a warning sound in the back of his throat that fell short of becoming a protest when Ffion laid a hand on his arm. Her grey eyes were on Flemeth again and she took a moment to answer what should have been an easy question.

"Anymore... I don't know what to believe," She finally said simply and let her hand fall. She gave Flemeth a shrug and half smile, "I simply came to ask about the treaties. Do you still have them?"

Flemeth was studying her with much more interest now and there was more than a glint of admiration in her strange eyes. She glanced at the rest of them quickly and then was grinning fully at Ffion.

"That statement possesses much more wisdom then it implies," She observed softly and had suddenly taken on the air of a teacher most pleased with her pupil, "Be always aware… or is it oblivious? Don't mind me, child, I'm a twisted old woman. And yes, I do have your treaties. Contrary to what your companions might tell you, I took them to keep them safe. Wait a moment and I will get them."

She disappeared into the hut momentarily while those gathered exchanged puzzled glances, and returned with a leather bag that had seen better days. She handed this over to Ffion.

"Thank you, Flemeth, you have shown much more kindness than I thought possible," Alistair told her bluntly, "I don't think I would have done the same if the roles were reversed."

"See that you continue keeping your mind open, Warden," Flemeth answered with the same direct tone and she spared a look at the other men before dismissing them and meeting Ffion's gaze, "And you, child, push too hard and your strength disappears. Slow down. Morrigan, show your guests out of the Wilds, girl."

Ffion hardly had time to blink at Flemeth before the old woman was disappearing into the hut once more and Morrigan was heaving a sigh and leading the way back to the ruins where she left them with a nod and was gone again like she had never been there. Alistair watched Ffion the entire trek back to Ostagar while Jory and Daveth discussed the witches at length in less than glowing terms. She felt the ex-Templar's curiousity and ignored it. Afterall, she had refrained from giving her surname for a reason and if he really wanted, he could find out what it was with very little effort.

The guard at the gate allowed them to enter Ostagar just as the last rays of the sun disappeared from the sky and Alistair became focused again, leading them back to Duncan's fire. The senior Warden was crouched in front of the flames, deep in thought as he stared at the embers. He glanced up when they approached though and was smiling genuinely as Ffion handed over Flemeth's pouch and her vial of Darkspawn blood; the others following her example. Jory immediately launched into a description of the witches and went on about how the soldiers needed to take care of them while Duncan listened with half an ear, nodding when it called for it and then soothing the younger man with a few empty promises. He glanced up at Ffion questioningly every now and then, but she was clearly elsewhere and didn't seem to notice. Alistair was also watching the new recruit worriedly and Duncan acted quickly to keep everyone on track.

"Are you all prepared then?" He asked, looking around at each in turn when it was clear that Jory was finished with his story and Daveth quit interrupting with his own comments. Ffion was the first to answer with a nod and the men followed suit, "Very well. The mages have been preparing while you were hunting for the Darkspawn and we are ready to begin. Come with me."

He lead them to a small deserted courtyard which looked to be part of an old temple set away from the bustle of the camp, not to mention out of sight. Alistair, seeming to act on some unspoken cue, suddenly motioned for the three of them to wait while Duncan moved across the courtyard into the shadows. Ffion watched him go with a frown but Alistair was busy with distracting the other men. She dropped to a crouch and stroked Tilly's soft chestnut head, putting her face close to the dog's ears. At times, she swore she could catch the woodsmoke and marjoram smell of the castle's kitchen or the lavender and magnolia that always made her think of her mother's gardens; but tonight there was a heady scent of leather and fresh air that made her heart constrict. When she was a girl and would sneak downstairs to greet her father after he arrived home late, these were the smells that clung to him; sometimes with the tang of the sea or the smoke of his favorite pipe tobacco. And with the words of Flemeth still ringing clearly in her head, it made her more homesick than ever. But Duncan was calling to them and lights were flaring to life where he was standing and she didn't have time to dwell on that anymore.

The Warden was solemn as he stood beside a heavy stone table, his hands clasped behind his back and black eyes watching them closely. Jory and Daveth both stood forward as Ffion remained a little behind, Tilly leaning against her. She was tired; that much he could see, and there was emotion in her face that he knew she was vying to keep hidden.

"We are gathered here to initiate you three to the order of the Grey Wardens," He said and his deep voice was solemn, "You have been successful in your gathering of the Darkspawn blood and now it will be determined who shall be chosen and who shall be left behind. So it has been since the first order of the Wardens drank of the Darkspawn blood, mastering their taint, and creating a bond between man and beast that enables us to seek them out as they seek us."

"D-Drink their…" Jory's voice trailed off as he realized what Duncan was telling him and his broad face was suddenly a little less gruff than it had been. His chin became weak and he didn't realize the others were now looking at him in disgust, "We have to drink the… blood of those… creatures?"

Duncan remained patient though his black eyes were watching the big soldier more closely than before.

"That is what makes us what we are and where we get the ability to sense the Darkspawn," He was looking at Alistair as he added, "There are only a few words that are spoken at the beginning of each ritual. Alistair?"

Alistair's voice went soft and flowed smoothly as he recited the Warden prayer with a conviction that was absent from his normal speech.

"Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you."

Duncan lifted his head and turned to the table where the empty vials and a heavy pewter goblet were standing. He took the goblet in both hands and faced them again, seeing how the eyes of all three had widened. Jory was the most nervous while Daveth and Ffion both held a sort of resigned excitement. Daveth was stepping forward, taking the goblet and meeting Duncan's gaze.

"One sip, Daveth, and we will see if you have been chosen to follow the Wardens," Duncan said quietly.

The young man stared down at the Darkspawn blood for a long moment and then closed his eyes, put his lips to the rim and took a sip. Duncan accepted the cup again and stepped back. They all watched Daveth expectantly and were an audience as he swallowed, coughed, and then kept on coughing. He dropped to his knees, his hands going to his throat as his eyes bugged and he gasped for breath between each shuddering gag. For a brief moment, it seemed he finally sucked in air and then his eyes rolled back and he went stiff, falling to the flagstones and giving one last shudder before his body went still.

Duncan's jaw clenched and his black eyes went to Jory who had backed up to the wall behind him and was looking about wildly for an escape. Alistair and Ffion watched, wordless with horror as Duncan set the cup on the table, one hand going for the knife in his belt.

"I don't want this..." Jory protested, "I have a... a wife... a son... I can't... I won't..."

"Jory, you were chosen," Duncan said quietly as the soldier drew his longsword and set himself in a defensive stance, "You can't turn back."

"I won't!" Jory shouted and flung himself at Duncan, his blade singing through the air.

Duncan was faster. He ducked underneath the powerful swing and was thrusting his own blade up, catching Jory between his armor. The big soldier went slack in his arms and Duncan was whispering something for his ears only before letting the body fall beside Daveth's. Ffion drew in a startled breath as Duncan's black eyes went to her almost hopefully. Tilly was on edge beside her, her hackles going up and a soft growl rumbling in her throat. Brushing her fingers gently against the dog's fur, Ffion squared her shoulders and was stepping towards the senior Warden. If she died, so be it. Wasn't it what she had been wanting for the past two weeks anyway? She could feel Alistair's gaze as she took the cup and didn't pause to think before she tipped it up and drank.

The blood oozed down her throat like it was something alive and began burning like nothing she'd ever felt. Duncan was instantly taking the goblet from her and she hardly realized it. Her throat was closing, the burning intensifying so that she was being stuck with probing needles and she put one hand up as though that would ease it. Tilly was barking and whining, her nose bumping into Ffion's face and she realized she had collapsed to her knees, gasping for breath that teased her just out of reach. Black spots danced frantically before her eyes and she was fading quickly. Dropping to all fours, she attempted to say something, anything, and the last thing she thought was: _I'm sorry, Tilly!_ before everything went dark.

Her dreams were just as bad. They were wrought with the burning pain, flames that licked at her skin and metal shards that cut into her as though she was a block of Nan's cheese. And then there were nightmares of her family's death, which were even worse. Father and Marmie both blaming her for not doing more; Oren screaming to her for help, and having to watch as Oriana was brutalized and slowly tortured. The last thing she saw before bolting upright was a monstrous creature that resembled a dragon. It soared through the air, landing with a crash on top of the tower she remembered vaguely belonging to the city of Denerim, and letting out a triumphant roar she knew signaled the end of the rule of men...


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** The next chapter and thanks to everybody who takes the time to read this! All the best!

* * *

"Out of the three of you, I had the most hope in your success," Duncan's deep voice was immediately to her left and she jumped, startled, "Here, this will help."

He was extending a glass of warm ale and she could smell how strong it was. This, too, burned as it went down, but it was a pleasant warmth and she had to smile as Tilly attempted to crawl onto the cot like she was a puppy again. Ffion's grey eyes went around and she realized quite suddenly she was in Duncan's own personal tent and the fondness for him grew deeper.

"How long have I been out?" She asked and the raspy exhaustion in her voice surprised even her. She was rubbing Tilly's ears as the dog gave up trying to worm her way into her lady's lap.

"An hour at the most," Duncan was on his feet, taking the mug from her and refilling it with water this time. He remained standing as he watched her drain the entire cup once more, "It's not unusual. Actually it's much shorter than my own Joining. I was unconscious for nearly 4 hours. They were afraid I would never wake up. How do you feel?"

She chuckled dryly; pulling at the shirt she was wearing and hoping that it had been him, and not Alistair, that had removed her armor. Wondering where that thought had come from, she raked her fingers back through her hair and held her head.

"I am not sure yet," She answered and was pleased to hear some of her strength returning, "The pain... I'm no stranger to broken bones and stitches but that... I have never felt anything like it."

He sent her that piercing, knowing look and she felt like she should expect a scolding.

"It sounds like the nightmares were worse," He said mildly.

Ffion lifted her head and met his gaze. She could feel her back and shoulders tightening with more than just the distaste for this topic and tried to keep a hold of her tongue.

"That's my business," She replied coolly and wondered if she was strong enough to get to her feet without embarrassing herself, "And it's also something I will have to deal with, Warden, though the dragon is... less than encouraging."

"Duncan," He corrected, "And it's an Archdemon, but it doesn't really matter what the name is. That is the creature we will have to defeat if this becomes a true Blight. Rest a moment longer and when you feel ready; join me in the southern courtyard. The king and his general are discussing tactics and I'm sure it will be of interest to you. Cailan also thought you could bring something valuable to the table. He has yet to locate your brother but there are a lot of troops here, he'll turn up."

Ffion was shifting around on the cot, placing her bare feet on the rough rug and meeting his gaze.

"I'm sorry it had to end that way with Jory," She said softly and watched as his eyes flickered with emotion, "And Daveth as well. They were both brave men."

"I am sorry, too," He answered and stood at the entrance to his tent. His expression became knowing again and he faced her, "Alistair has been worried about you, but curiously, he doesn't seem to know who you are. Does he?"

Ffion stroked Tilly's soft heavy head as the dog set it in her lap and gave the senior Warden a half smile that was exhaustion itself.

"It may have slipped my mind," She confessed, "But I am keeping this to myself for my own reasons."

"Understood. We are meeting in the next half hour; the southern courtyard," And with that, he was gone.

* * *

Ffion was slow to get going again and was still fastening one of the straps on her leather breastplate when she pushed the tent flap open. Alistair was perched on a log beside the campfire and smiled at her as she emerged. The smell of stew was permeating the air and he motioned to it with one hand.

"I know Duncan wanted you to meet with him and the king, but you have enough time to eat something if you like," He offered, "And don't worry, it's not my cooking. I'm kind of a joke where that's concerned but the Chantry sisters are unmatched."

She allowed a warm smile and stepped over to take the proffered bowl. Tilly was looking at her expectantly as she settled on the log. Her muscles were sore and rather weak, making her feel as though she had been fasting for days and she suddenly discovered just how hungry she was.

"You can give her something if you want," She told him as Tilly transferred her attention to the ex-Templar, "She's a shameless beggar."

He chuckled and spooned a little stew into his empty bowl before setting it on the ground at their feet. Tilly instantly devoured it and was perching on her haunches, allowing Alistair to stroke her ears as she waited for more.

"She's a beautiful Mabari," He commented, "Have you had her long?"

"Four years, now," Ffion answered and felt the sting of grief she wasn't sure she'd ever get over. It was custom for the Cousland women to receive gifts on their 18th birthdays as a sort of coming out and Ffion, being as she was, hadn't wanted the fancy ball and over-the-top gown. Instead, she wanted her very own warhound and her father couldn't refuse that. He hadn't been able to refuse her much of anything, "Everything you hear about Mabari is true. She would jump in front of lightning for me if she understood how that worked."

He was looking at her now with a slightly pitying expression.

"I'm sorry you had to see that... with Daveth and Jory," He said slowly, "When I Joined, we only lost one out of five. To lose all but one is rather... discouraging."

"Do very many refuse to Join when they've come that close?" She asked and didn't have to clarify that she was talking about Jory.

"No, we all understand what being a Grey Warden entails. I mean, if we wanted to live out our lives with wives and husbands and have a family, none of us would be here."

She arched her brows at him as she placed her bowl on the ground for Tilly.

"You mean you didn't want those things?"

"I was raised in the Chantry after my 10th birthday," He replied and was speaking ruefully, "Everyone expected me to become a Templar and I was well on my way when Duncan came, looking for new recruits. The Grand Cleric wasn't going to let me go with him and he had to Conscript me. Maker, was she ever furious."

"Why wouldn't she let you go with him? If it was something you wanted and you hadn't taken your vows yet, what did it matter to the Grand Cleric?" Ffion, not willing to admit she may have been raised rather spoiled, couldn't grasp that someone would be forced to do something they truly didn't want to do.

"The Chantry is against any and all mages that roam free and it didn't help that Duncan had a few with him when he visited," Alistair was talking to the fire and he looked borderline guilty, as though speaking disdainfully of the Chantry might somehow harm him, "Also, the Grand Cleric wasn't partial to the Wardens to begin with and to lose even one potential Templar to them was a great blow to her pride. But I've kept you long enough, Duncan will be waiting."

She nodded and got to her feet, hoping they would have future chances to talk. Her studies growing up were limited to just the surface relationships amongst the different sects and she was lucky enough to have had a lenient father who owned an extensive library which he gave her free reign over. But still, with all her years of studying, first-hand accounts of the life outside Cousland castle were priceless. Her features transformed into a frown when the ex-Templar remained seated and she met his gaze.

"You're not coming?"

"Ah, no, I have some other errands to run and Duncan wanted just you," He replied and there was nothing but a polite negative in his voice.

Ffion's frown deepened further and her brows drew together.

"But why me?" She questioned, confused, "I'm just a new Warden, the _newest_ Warden. What could the king and Loghain want with me?"

To her surprise, Alistair's cheeks began flushing and he poked at the fire again to avoid her gaze.

"Well, I may have... boasted a little about you," He steeled himself and glanced up, "Before being shipped off to the Chantry, I was raised in Redcliffe castle. We turn out some of the finest archers and knife-throwers in Ferelden and... Ffion, I have never seen anyone who could match what you're capable of."

It was Ffion's turn to blush and the pink in her cheeks set off the grey eyes wonderfully. She shook her head a little and gave him a shrug.

"I simply had too much time on my hands when I was young," She answered softly, "And I was doing what I had to."

"Whatever it is, Cailan and Duncan want to know if you have any advice," Alistair went back to pushing at the embers, "Take advantage of this, Ffion."

Ffion was able to find the southern courtyard without difficulty and approached the table where Duncan was standing with more than a little trepidation. She had been raised amongst nobility, was nobility herself no matter how much she hated it, and the sight of the king's gold armor and General Loghain's own brushed Silverite, intimidated her unlike anything else.

"There you are," Duncan greeted softly.

The king and Loghain were talking rather heatedly and that's why they missed her entrance. There was an elderly woman garbed in the Chantry's standard yellow and red and her gaze was fixed on a tall, willowy bald man whose staff proclaimed his title of mage. Ffion nodded to both and then stepped next to Duncan, Tilly on her heels.

"I'm sorry I'm late," She said quietly, "Alistair was kind enough to get me something to eat and we talked for a little while."

"Loghain, it doesn't matter," Cailan was saying shortly and turning to the table, his cheeks flushed with anger and normally gentle blue eyes snapping in frustration, "I won't be hiding like a scared child while my armies fight this hoard. The men and women need to see that their king is behind them and I intend on seeing this through. Now, drop it and let's get back to the planning."

Ffion bowed to him as Duncan managed to shunt her forward while staying at her side.

"You're being a fool," Loghain's sharp, rasping voice was cool and Ffion arched her brows at the way he addressed the king, "Your father would never have allowed-"

"My father is dead, Loghain, and he would have done the same in my shoes," Cailan suddenly realized Ffion's presence and he smiled, "Lady Cousland, I understand there are congratulations in order."

Ffion inclined her head and for the first time since the Ritual and the horrors of Daveth and Jory's deaths, felt proud. She was part of something bigger than herself and her own world; a close-knit band that she had always admired and it felt… wonderful. It was the distraction she had needed and she was surer than ever it was her way to get revenge on the bastard Howe.

"Yes, thank you, sire," She said as she felt the general's questioning gaze.

"Loghain, this is the young woman I spoke of, Ffion Cousland," Cailan said and his pleasant disposition was taking hold again, "The one Duncan told me might be of help placing our archers. We need to decide quickly so we can direct them where they will do the most damage."

Ffion forgot her astonished embarrassment and bashfulness with the king's personal request for her as she stepped forward. She was emboldened by her curiosity and even ignored Loghain's arched brows and disbelieving look, studying the map spread on the table in front of her.

"Why the sudden urgency?" She asked, "I thought the onslaught was still a couple of days away?"

Duncan was smiling rather indulgently and it reminded her painfully of her father, making her expectant to hear a slightly reproachful 'Pup.' But it didn't and wouldn't come and instead it was Duncan's deep voice that answered,

"You're a Warden now, Ffion, with the ability to sense the Darkspawns' presence. Didn't you feel the other Wardens; Alistair; me?"

Loghain was on the verge of interrupting but he held himself in check. His son-in-law was fascinated by this conversation and it didn't matter that the general was family; the young man was still King of Ferelden.

"Well, I…" Ffion trailed off, not sure how to continue. So that's what that needling was at the back of her mind. That feeling of a threat lurking nearby and making her hand itch for her blades; a feeling that was so much more poignant than simple intuition, "Yes, of course I can. But what does that have to do with this?"

"Perhaps there are too many Wardens for you to differentiate, but that's common," Duncan was eternally patient, "The presence of Darkspawn intensified dramatically an hour and a half ago and the scouts are now reporting a force of them within a few miles of here."

He watched Ffion's face with interest, wondering what her reaction would be. She blinked in surprise and then her grey eyes became crystal clear and he could practically see how rapidly the wheels in her head were turning. This quickness merely affirmed his first impression of her and he was doubly grateful she had survived the Joining.

"Where are the archers currently placed, sire?" She asked and at once became a Teyrn's daughter.

Cailan bent over the map and motioned for her to do the same. As she did so, she saw that it wasn't so much a map as a layout of Ostagar itself. The king was pushing a little peg towards her and left it situated at an upper bridge. It only took a moment for Ffion to get her bearings and discover the bridge was beyond and to the left of where they were standing. She glanced in that direction but the shadows were too deep to make out clear details.

"This was the place recommended to us," Cailan answered as Duncan came to stand at Ffion's elbow and Loghain leaned against the table. The general was secure enough in his station to dare looking bored, but no one paid him any mind, "Archers here and more below, mixed in with the men. Uldred's mages will be situated above as well. We will need all the long range attacks made as soon as the Darkspawn are upon us."

"My men will be waiting for the signal," This was Loghain's harsh voice again and he was leaning over the map beside his son-in-law, "We are posted to the east and when the signal comes, we will execute our flanking attack."

Ffion was surprised at the simplicity. This was the same general that had wrestled Orlesians out of Ferelden with Cailan's father, Maric. He was a legend but she knew well enough how, sometimes, the more simplistic the plan, the better.

"And therein lies our other problem," Loghain's voice continued, interrupting her thoughts, "Who will be lighting the signal? I have a few men that are willing. It's a small task, but a very vital one."

"You already know my mind is made up on that subject, Loghain," Cailan had become stubborn again, the set of his jaw enough to say that he wasn't going to be talked out of his idea, "We will send Alistair and Ffion."

Ffion was surprised and dismayed by this and some of it must have showed in her face. Duncan was bowing slightly and speaking before she could,

"Of course, Majesty, and I am glad you settled on that choice."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Alright, the last Ostagar chapter and thanks again for the reviews and taking the time to read this! Take care!

**Disclaimer: **Most unfortunately, Dragon Age, its characters, and some of the clever dialogue I've borrowed, don't belong to me.

* * *

They didn't spend much more time with the king and general; just long enough for Ffion to make an impression with a good eye for picking out better archers' positions. Though she was still very disappointed about missing the bulk of the fighting with her other assignment, she didn't put up near the fuss that Alistair did when he learned about it. She had only the one outburst, after they left the king's company, and that was to ask why she couldn't accompany Duncan. The older Warden merely smiled with a paternal fondness and placed one hand on her shoulder.

"The king has always been adamant that it be the Wardens to light the signal, ever since we came up with this loose idea weeks ago. Why else do you think we chose a place with such an intact tower?" He began and there was an undercurrent of steel developing in his tone, though that last had more than a hint of sarcasm.

"He only _really_ wanted us after you made the suggestion," Alistair muttered, showing no trepidation in being borderline insubordinate.

Duncan wasn't effected. He dropped his hand from Ffion's shoulder, spared a glance at Alistair and then shrugged his own shoulders. He suddenly looked very much his age in the flaring light of the campfire and Ffion could see the instant concern on Alistair's face.

"That is neither here nor there," He answered, "Cailan wanted trusted men to do this task and who does he trust more than the Wardens? Besides, he places too much faith in Loghain, who would much rather dictate from afar. The general's retirement should have happened long ago."

The last statement was added more to himself than anything else and Ffion, either not seeing Alistair's head shake or choosing to ignore it, was blurting,

"But that's _General Loghain!_ He wouldn't turn traitor on Maric's son, would he?"

Duncan was pulled back from wherever his mind had wandered and seemed to realize just then what he had said.

"Of course not," He amended, but it was spoken too quickly; too defensively, and this time Alistair was frowning at him as well, "Like I said, we need someone that we can trust to light the beacon in time and sending two just makes more sense than sending a troop. When the assault begins, you will have no more than an hour to reach the top of the tower. We will signal you when to light and if something goes awry, you will have to use your own judgement."

Ffion was still burning with curiosity at the implication that Loghain might not be as loyal as they believed, but she listened to Duncan patiently.

"Alright, alright," Alistair capitulated and the teasing note was back in his voice, "I'll agree to this one, but if Cailan asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm going to have to draw the line."

Ffion found herself grinning genuinely at that image and was surprised at how easily the ex-Templar made her feel like her old self. She glanced up at him.

"Way to take a stand, Alistair."

He returned the grin and was almost a little nervous at the mischief suddenly gleaming in her eyes. There was enough there that it seemed very plausible she might talk him into doing just that or maybe get him drunk and let him make a fool of himself on his own. Duncan was shaking his head and Alistair spoke before the senior Warden could,

"Well, I have to retain some pride, don't I?" At Duncan's long suffering sigh, he was adding more seriously, his voice taking on an edge of excitement, "And after the signal, we can join the fight?"

"Yes, so long as everything has gone well," The indulgent tone was back and for a brief moment, Duncan's gaze was rather wistful. It only lasted a moment though and he was looking at them almost severely while he added, "Remember, above all else, you are Grey Wardens now and it is your responsibility to keep Ferelden safe from anything that may threaten her. No matter what happens, never forget your oath or your duties."

Ffion felt a sudden irrational fear as though this would be the last time she'd see the elder Warden and as a warning note was blown on Ostagar's war horn, she tried to shake the dread. She gave him a formal Warden bow, arms criss-crossed over her chest as she had seen all the other Wardens do.

"Maker go with you, Duncan," Alistair said somberly.

"Maker go with us all," He replied and added, "Remember: one hour."

* * *

"The Tower of Ishal is in the next courtyard, across the bride to the east," Alistair told her as they headed up the stairs to cross to the eastern fortifications.

Ffion knew he was talking just out of excitement. The battle was starting and she almost froze when she caught sight of the mass of creatures swarming towards Ostagar. That tingling telling her about the Darkspawn presence had grown into a full blown irritation and the other Wardens didn't help matters. She stuck close to Alistair and Tilly was right on her heels as they started across the bridge. The sounds of fighting were echoing through the valley spread before and up the canyon behind Ostagar and the number of Darkspawn was not encouraging.

They were no more than halfway across, skirting the archers and mages on the parapets, when the world suddenly rocked violently, sending them crashing to the rough stone. Ffion felt Tilly's weight against her legs and she sat up, trying to ignore the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. The Mabari was fine, just stunned, as was Alistair. Ffion's ears were ringing and she could hear faint cries and yells that were deadened even more. Alistair was getting unsteadily to his feet, trying to grab her elbow and help her up, too. Tilly was stunned as she pressed close to her lady, tail between her legs and ears laid flat, looking for some tangible threat she could attack.

It wasn't easy for Ffion to leave the wounded, but Alistair was firm and the urgency of their task was suddenly heavier than before. They bolted down the remainder of the bridge and to the next courtyard where they were met by two men who came running from the tower. Their faces were terrified and the mage's cowl had been knocked askew.

"Wardens!" The soldier greeted and the relief in that word was palpable, "The tower! There are Darkspawn crawling all over the tower!"

"_What?_" Alistair exclaimed and his honey colored eyes went up the length of the tower as though he was expecting to see the monsters clambering up the walls, "What do you mean; they're inside the tower?"

"They came from nowhere," The mage cut in, "We weren't prepared and no one expected this."

"We have to press on, Alistair," Ffion commented and her calm surprised even herself.

"Those bastards decimated my troop," The soldier said quickly as Alistair nodded an affirmative to Ffion, "I'd like to help if you'll have me?"

They agreed and Alistair couldn't help but glance at the mage. His pale blue eyes were still wide with the horrors that he had seen but his chin was set stubbornly and he gave a single firm nod as though he was trying to convince himself.

"Yes, me too. What they did to my senior enchanter… someone needs to pay for that."

Banded together now, they hurried up the steps to the next courtyard where the tower was and both Alistair and Ffion brought the other two up short. That niggling in the back of Ffion's mind, the hum and swirl of what was the Darkspawn taint running through her, spiked sharply and she was ready with her swords before the Genlock they came across was aware of them. Ahead there were six other creatures that were lording over fallen soldiers and in no time they realized they were not alone. The mage and Ffion stood back, firing with both magic and arrows while Alistair and the soldier danced forward among the monsters. The mage took out the Emissary with a shaft of fire that was painful to look at and Tilly downed the Hurlock that was swinging for the unprotected back of the soldier. Alistair was struggling with the last two Genlocks and when he gave one his undivided attention, the other threw itself at him. Ffion reacted reflexively and a brief moment later one of her prized, razor sharp knives was embedded in the monster's throat.

Alistair blinked at her as she came up to pry it from the thick skin and wipe it clean with an expression of distaste. He studied her briefly and checked another reason to be happy she was on his side.

"That was… great," He said finally and she seemed surprised he was praising her, "Thanks."

"It had to be done," She answered simply with a shrug, "Let's go."

They pressed on and entered what Alistair could only think of as the tower of hell. The first floor was ransacked and the smell of death and decay was thick in the air. Shelves were overturned, crates and chests broken open: there were bodies of soldiers and mages and Mabari amongst the Darkspawn: the floor was slick with blood in some places and the strange, pulsing fleshy sacks left by the monsters made the smell even worse. Ffion could still feel the Darkspawn about but with the creatures crawling all over the place, it was impossible to differentiate between distances.

Alistair was leading the way and he was about to enter the big foyer from the entry when Ffion grabbed his elbow. Against his front shin was a thin wire that, if not looked for, would have been invisible.

"Don't move," She told him and then glanced at the mage, "Make sure nothing surprises us. I need to find this trap."

Successfully frozen by her words, Alistair hated how vulnerable he felt standing completely in the open.

"How did you know it would be there?" He asked, his brown eyes going everywhere in the room.

"I was looking for it," She answered absently, choosing not to mention that these were the exact traps that she and Gilmore used to set for Fergus and the other soldiers, with a less violent outcome, "It was too quiet. Do you think they have trouble differentiating us from the other Darkspawn?"

The ex-Templar was confused by her sudden change and then understood what she was asking. She was moving further along the wall, following the trip wire to the end.

"I would guess that they aren't too bright and they react on pure instinct. When they sense us, they're stupid enough to think we're other creatures. Can't I just step over this thing?"

"No, don't move," The answer was automatic and Ffion was crouching at the trap she found, trying to gauge how to remove the wire without blasting everyone with the flaming gas that was bound to be released, "You've pushed the wire too far forward and you'll run the risk of pulling it out if you step back. Just… don't move."

She was bent over the trap again and within moments had it disabled and agreeing with Alistair on the intelligence of these beasts. They pressed on and came up on the troop that was waiting for the trap to spring. The monsters were caught unawares and though they outnumbered Ffion's little band, they were taken down with ease. Alistair was leading the way to the door to the second floor and they went through their same routine. Ffion and the mage tried to stay back, protecting Alistair and the soldier with their ranged attacks. Tilly cantered about in front of her lady, never allowing any of the monsters within a few yards of her and the mage proved especially adept with healing magic. His flame blast was also a good one and the smell of death was soon covered by the sickly, almost sweet odor of burning flesh.

They made a good team and, time being of the essence, they were soon merely cutting down the Darkspawn, sometimes not even making sure they were dead. Everything went well until they reached the top floor. Alistair charged through and was prepared for anything but what he saw. He came to a sudden stop, back-peddling into Ffion who was right behind him and almost knocking her to the floor.

Ahead of them, standing between them and the beacon that was lying dead and dark on its hearth, was a hunched ogre. There was the sharp sound of bones breaking and the ominous tear of something that wasn't fabric, and the monster's horned head swung around to face them. Its beady, violent black eyes fixed on Alistair and the soldier who had instinctively moved forward to protect the other two. It grunted, shifting its weight and straightening so they could see the dark rivulets of blood running down the heavily muscled chest. In one of its massive hands was the torn body of another Darkspawn and the ogre tossed it aside and gave its undivided attention to the new, living, targets.

"Back!" The mage hollered at Alistair and the soldier. He swung his staff around, taking a stance and seemed to make the atmosphere itself surge. Suddenly the point of the staff erupted with a dark light and moments later a trail of small boulders was smashing into the ogre's chest.

The monster stumbled back, going to one of its knees as the mage followed up with a shaft of fire. The others hurried forward and Ffion took over with the ranged attacks as the strain of those two consecutive spells became evident in the mage's face. She was rapidly firing off arrows. Two landed in the beasts shoulders and another sank into the neck. The ogre roared in annoyance and came back to its feet, swinging for anything that it could destroy. Alistair and the soldier danced back warily and Alistair was darting around behind the ogre, striking here and there while trying to avoid the vicious kicks.

The ogre was having none of it. The massive horned head lowered and Alistair just barely dove out of the way. The monster was caught off guard and the soldier jumped in, sword swinging. As the ogre wheeled to face him, Alistair and Ffion took their chances as well. Ffion's bow was slung onto her back and both her shortswords glinted maliciously as she jumped forward. Caught between three armed warriors that inflicted pain with razor sharp blades, the ogre roared in fury. Tilly was darting about its legs, sinking her teeth into its flesh when she could and as soon as the monster began weakening, the mage hollered for them to stand down. They did so instantly, the soldier staggering back as the ogre made one last ditch effort to win.

Another string of boulders smashed into the monster's chest and, as Alistair and the soldier darted forward to finish it off, Ffion ran for the hearth. The dry tinder of the beacon responded immediately to the flint and as the ogre's breath rattled to nothing behind her, she hurried to the windows to watch the last moments of battle. Prayers were scrolling through her mind as though on repeat and she felt rather than saw Alistair move in beside her.

Below them, things were not going well. It had clearly been much longer than their allotted hour and Cailan's carefully placed lines were failing. Ostagar was crowded with Darkspawn and to their dismayed surprise Cailan and Duncan were in the thick of things. They were holding their own, it seemed, and when the fire ignited at the top of the tower and the war horn sounded, Duncan and the king both glanced up at the beacon.

Ffion and Alistair's view of the battle was obstructed briefly by a curtain of smoke from the burning buildings down below and they were not in the correct line of vision to see Loghain's reaction to the horn and beacon. They missed the sharp words he shared with Serah Cauthrien, his right hand; missed her disbelieving look and reluctant wave for the troops to retreat, not advance; missed the general's last scathing glare towards what would soon become the destruction of Ostagar. Instead, their very next sighting of the king and senior Warden made their blood run cold and Alistair whisper a hoarse, _No!_

An ogre was hurtling itself at the pair, knocking Duncan out of the way before snatching up Cailan in one massive hand. The Warden was scrambling back to his feet, obviously hurting, and rushing for the swords that had flown from his hands. The ogre was holding the king close to its face and the roar it gave seemed to tremble up the tower's stones. Time slowed as Duncan hefted a blade into his hand and hastened for the monster. With a second resounding roar, the ogre clasped Cailan firmly and squeezed. The king didn't even have time to scream. His once resplendent gold armor was crushed to nothing and as his body went limp, blood oozed down over it. The ogre tossed the dead man aside and he dropped to the ground in a broken, crumpled heap.

Duncan hesitated for only a moment before he snatched up another sword and threw himself at the monster. He leaped and as the hands made to grab for him, he sank the blades hilt-deep into the broad chest. The Warden clung there for a moment, trying to keep his grip as the beast let out a bellow of pain and anger, tossing its head back. With a tremendous wrench, Duncan pulled one sword free and stabbed again, this time closer to the neck. The second sword followed and the ogre collapsed, sending the Warden rolling away from him. This time, Duncan didn't try to stand. Instead he crawled to Cailan's body, clearly in pain, and reached out with one hand to turn the king over. He looked down into the bloody face of the man he had come to think of as a friend and comrade, then let his eyes rove over the rest of the bodies scattered about.

Ostagar was clearly lost. Darkspawn were crawling over everything, cutting down the soldiers that were retreating in waves towards the nonexistent protection of the ruin's walls. Tiredly, knowing this was likely to be the end of him, he looked up at the brightly burning beacon and could hardly muster the anger over Loghain's desertion. It had been quite clear the general did not agree with this assault and now he had made a very firm and, in essence, defensible stand.

Duncan saw the alpha Hurlock bearing down on him and didn't for an instant fool himself with the idea that he could reach another sword in time. Instead he perched there on his heels, waiting for his death; thanking the Maker that he wasn't going to have to face the Deep Roads, and his final prayer was that Alistair and Ffion would survive this. The boy was going to be Ferelden's last hope. The axe finally swung down and the senior Warden was gone.

"_No!_" Alistair screamed.

Behind them, the door burst open and a swarm of Darkspawn was suddenly upon them. Their group held their own for a little while and then the soldier was cut down and something smashed into Ffion, sending her staggering to her knees. She felt the first arrows sink into her and, just before the other crash went against her skull, she heard Alistair shouting her name and Tilly whimpering and then the world went black.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **I've been having a hard time trying to get Zevran right, so reading this older stuff before I post it is kind of a nice break. Enjoy, everybody, and take care!

* * *

Something wet with a rough warmth to it kept running over the back of Ffion's hand, rousing her slowly. In her half-wakeful stupor, with the way light was creeping into the room, she thought she was in the castle. Pushing Tilly's head away, she moved to roll onto her other side, expecting to hear Nan's voice waking her or her mother's gentle call…

The thought of her mother and cook and the fact that pain suddenly exploded in her head reminded her sharply that she wasn't home and then the events at Ostagar flashed through her mind. With a gasp of shock she was trying to sit up and look around her when a hand pressed firmly on her shoulder.

"Do not fret," A cool, vaguely familiar voice commanded, "You are safe, for the time being, and though your wounds were severe, you will survive."

Risking the pain, Ffion opened her eyes wide and took in her surroundings. She was lying on a cot inside a clean, rather quaint, little room. Sunlight was flooding the windows and shining dully off the flagstone floor. There were a few threadbare rugs covering the stone and directly ahead of her was a dead fireplace and two tall, narrow bookshelves piled with dusty tomes.

Next to her, seated in a wood and thrush chair was the woman that had spoken. Blinking in the light and trying to make the throbbing pain in her head subside, Ffion dug frantically for the witch's name.

"Morrigan?" She was moreso looking for affirmation that she got the name right and was assured when the woman nodded. Trying to put her thoughts in some sort of order, she rasped, "What happened?"

Morrigan stood gracefully. She was garbed in a similar outfit as the last time Ffion saw her and she moved across the room to pull the shades even further from the window. Turning back to look at Ffion, she stood at the foot of the bed.

"From what we have gleaned, the man that was to come to your aid tucked tail and deserted your forces. None of the other soldiers survived and you were lucky Mother acted so quickly," Her expression was an interesting mixture of pity and faint annoyance as she added somewhat hesitantly, "Your friend… he is not taking it well."

Ffion slowly attempted to sit up again, clutching the blanket to her when she realized she was wearing nothing but her small clothes. Her cheeks flushed in spite of her confusion over Morrigan's statement.

"My friend?" She repeated, wincing at the pain in her ribs and shoulders. Her head was pounding and she had to close her eyes again as she leaned against the headboard, "You mean Alistair?"

"If that is the dim-witted one that was with you earlier, yes," Morrigan's arrogant tone was back and she was once more the superior ice-queen, "I have just looked over your wounds and you are healing well. The blow to your head has been the most troublesome. It is causing problems now, yes? I will get you something for that and you are at no risk if you wish to get up and walk about. The beast has not left your side since Mother brought you here and it will only eat if… Alistair? is the one that feeds it."

Ffion peered fondly down at Tilly who had propped her chin on the mattress, staring up at her lady as though she could read her thoughts. Instantly the stub tail started wagging and Ffion had to admonish her gently as the dog tried to jump up onto the bed.

"How did Flemeth save us?" She asked, rubbing Tilly's ears as Morrigan took up a potion bottle and poured the contents into a pottery mug, "I don't remember anything beyond that last assault."

"She is the great and fearsome Flemeth," Morrigan's tone was ice as she handed Ffion the mug, "Do you think she would stoop to telling mere mortals her secrets?"

Ffion arched her brows and wished she hadn't. Even that hurt. She swallowed the contents in one gulp, grimacing at the bitter taste and handed the cup back.

"Not even her vanity demands it?" She asked and sat up fully, rolling her shoulders and trying to ignore the stabbing pain in her ribs again.

Morrigan allowed a small smile and set the bundle of Ffion's clothes down beside her.

"She is outside with your friend," She replied, "Humor her and she may consent to giving you an answer. I will be preparing something to eat."

The witch disappeared from the room and gave Ffion privacy to get dressed. She got out of the bed gingerly, looking over herself as she did so. There was a broad swath of bandages across the right side of her rib cage and a few smaller ones scattered around her shoulders and collar bones. She touched those softly, remembering the arrows that had been buried there. The throb in her ribs was starting to decrease a little and she found herself thankful that she had no recollection of that wound. Whatever Morrigan had given her was effective and her head was just aching dully, the sharp pain lessening.

She got dressed with care, trying not to pull any stitches loose and didn't bother with the leather breastplate. There was no way she could wear that with any sort of ease at the moment. Tilly kept trying to shove herself under Ffion's hands when she paused to allow the pain to subside and her lady, busy with thoughts of what to do next, would only absentmindedly give her small affectionate pats.

Outside, Alistair was standing at the edge of the bog and staring towards Ostagar where smoke was still visible, rising against the bright blue sky. From behind he heard the door open and, figuring it was Morrigan, didn't turn.

"Ah, you see, boy?" Flemeth's raspy voice was asking, disrupting his studious attempts to ignore her presence completely, "Here's your fellow Warden now and she is none the worse for wear."

That made him turn about sharply and he took in Ffion's appearance with one sweep of his honey colored eyes. She was blinking in the sunlight, looking like hell, which was actually an improvement from the past few days. Tilly was right behind her, still with the slight limp from that last foray with the Darkspawn.

Alistair's relief at the sight of Ffion was palpable. When he first regained consciousness and saw the extent of her wounds, he was terrified that he would be the only Grey Warden left in Ferelden and the weight of that on his shoulders was all too much. Adding to it the painful loss of Duncan and the rest of what had become his family… it would have destroyed him. Now, though, as he looked her over, he wondered if Morrigan and her mother would consent to them recuperating at the hut even longer. Ffion had taken at least four arrows to her shoulders and the mage's spell of small boulders had gone awry. Some of them slammed into her back, sending her to her knees and then the Hurlock was on her. Another blow to the head and Alistair had barely been in time to save her from a killing blow. Instead the monster's mace raked across her rib cage, tearing into the leather armor and breaking three ribs, cracking at least two others. He had been struck then too, but not by the enemy. The roof of the tower had been torn away and Alistair hadn't remembered much more than flashes of the night sky and then waking up the next morning with Flemeth bending over him. He had felt a complete wimp comparing his measly scratches and bruises to Ffion's wounds and so he had done his best to help. The witches hadn't allowed that for long and his own natural distrust for them soon left him nothing to do but keep Tilly company.

"You look like hell," He observed and was surprised to see that he made her smile a little.

Ffion didn't have the strength to stand for long and was soon sinking down onto a log with the pretense of enjoying the sunlight. She looked smaller without the leather breastplate and the paleness of her face made her appear much younger. Tilly was immediately dropping down beside her lady, placing her head in Ffion's lap.

"I feel about the same," She finally answered and then glanced up at Flemeth, craning her neck in a way that made her wince, "Thank you, Flemeth. I don't know how to ever-"

"Do not talk of payment, child," Flemeth interrupted, her sharp tone softening some in the face of Ffion's genuine gratitude, "Consider this my contribution to the cause and you will be cursing my name in time for the exact reason you want to thank me. With the monumental task before you, you will be regretting that you did not die with the rest."

Ffion had to grudge her the point and she cradled her head briefly in her hands, wishing her strength hadn't suddenly disappeared. She felt that she could sleep for the next few months and it still wouldn't be enough. Alistair was seating himself next to her and she was as reassured by his presence as he was by hers. This meant that someone else would be with her in this and where there was one, there may be more. She took a breath and looked up at the witch again.

"I'm afraid you're right, but we have to do something," She glanced at Alistair, "What are the odds of getting word to the other Wardens and asking for assistance?"

"At this rate, they would be here in time to watch Ferelden burn," Alistair said grimly, "I'm not sure there is anything left for us to do."

"Don't be foolish, boy," Flemeth scoffed and moved to stand a little more in front of them as though realizing how painful it was for Ffion to have to twist her head to look at her, "You are Wardens, aren't you? So you do what your kind has done in the past. It is not as though you are left completely without resources."

"Of course!" Alistair exclaimed brightly, looking more like himself as the inspiration struck him, "The treaties! They have the power to call the Elves, Dwarves and mages to the aid of the Wardens when they are needed. But… Duncan had them. Unless we went-"

"If you were to go back to Ostagar now, you would never return," Flemeth interrupted smoothly, "I had taken them for safe-keeping once, it wasn't much harder the second time."

"And we thank you for it," Ffion said with pleasant relief.

"Can we do this?" Alistair was asking Ffion, "Is it really possible?"

She thought about it briefly and Morrigan's words came back to her. Looking at the ex-Templar carefully, she replied,

"You were told about what happened at Ostagar, right? About Loghain?"

She received her answer in the darkening of Alistair's handsome features and the black light that came into his eyes.

"Yes," He said shortly, "The one person who would have the power and sway to help us in confronting him is Arl Eamon in Redcliffe. Eamon is Queen Rowan's brother, Cailan's uncle; he won't stand by while Loghain gets away with murder."

"So we could go to him first," Ffion was speaking more to herself, her mind working quickly, "We will need some sort of protection against Loghain and if Eamon can provide it, we should take full advantage."

Flemeth was watching them with an unreadable expression and she crossed her bony arms over her chest.

"Don't get me wrong, but calling up Elves, Dwarves and mages sounds like an army to me," She observed drily, "It seems you will become Wardens yet."

Ffion smiled faintly and then looked back at Alistair.

"It's decided then. We make for Redcliffe and get Eamon's counsel and then go from there," She was standing slowly, her face paling, "I know you don't want me to thank you, Flemeth, but you have been a great help. And the treaties… I don't know what we would have done without you."

"There is one thing you can do for me," Flemeth was saying, her eyes taking on a speculative gleam.

"The stew is ready, Mother," Morrigan's cool voice interrupted as she emerged from the hut, "Are we to have guests for lunch or no?"

"Go and prepare yourself, girl, you're to go with them," Flemeth said without pretense.

Ffion was too taken aback to say anything but Alistair and Morrigan responded in kind.

"_What?_" They exclaimed in unison.

"Now, wait a minute," Alistair said.

"Mother, please, you cannot-"

Flemeth was having none of it.

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years now and here is your chance," She cut in and her voice had taken on an even more imperious tone than her daughter's, "Besides, these two will need a guide and who better than a girl like you?"

Ffion found her voice again and she glanced between mother and daughter briefly before saying,

"Flemeth, if she doesn't wish to go-"

"What she wants has no bearing on this. She will be helpful to you and you will need a safe path around the Darkspawn," Flemeth fixed her attention on Ffion, "You said anything I might need. I am allowing my daughter to be your guide, entrusting you with what means most to me, I consider that a fair trade."

Ffion and Morrigan exchanged glances and the witch was frustrated and more than a little angry.

"No bearing, Mother?" She asked softly, rather dangerously, "Is it to come to that between us?"

"Do not play that game with me, girl. It is about time you left this hut and learned to walk on your own. No more protests, gather your things."

Morrigan glared for a heartbeat longer and then spun on her heel and stalked back into the hut. The door slammed and Flemeth could not have been more unaffected. Her yellow eyes were fixed on the curls of smoke in the distance. An uncomfortable silence fell over those gathered and Ffion thought of several different arguments she could have posed for Morrigan, but she refrained from mentioning them. Flemeth wasn't interested in what her daughter wanted, obviously.

Morrigan came back moments later. Her face was composed again though her gold eyes were still snapping with steady fire. She had retrieved her staff and a pack that must have been partially prepared already.

"Well, like I said, the stew is ready, Mother," She said and her voice still had that almost dangerous quality to it, "Remember to mind it. I would hate to return to a burned down hut."

"Ha, it is far more likely you will return to find Darkspawn and their filth in place of this hut and the swamp," Flemeth's voice was sharp and it was clear that she was angrier than she let on.

Morrigan almost appeared stricken. She parted her lips and glanced quickly at Ffion and Alistair.

"I- I did not mean-"

"I know what you meant, child," Her mother interrupted and her voice was much gentler, "But that is the reality of this disaster."

The younger witch nodded slowly. Her gold eyes went to Alistair again and dismissed him easily. Instead she directed her words at Ffion,

"I suggest making for Lothering. 'Tis not far and we will find the supplies that we need. If you prefer a different arrangement, I will simply remain your silent guide."

Ffion teetered briefly between asking why it was up to her and just putting Alistair on the spot. But she pushed both to the back of her mind and shook her head a little.

"No, that's fine. I would prefer you speak your mind."

Flemeth let out a bark of amused laughter.

"Rash, child, you will be regretting that offer."

"Sweet Mother," Morrigan purred and it was anything but pleasant, "You are so dear to turn me out like this."

Her mother was nonplussed. Her arms folded across her chest again and she was arching her brows.

"You will be thanking me in time," Flemeth was speaking quietly, "This will be a fine experience for you and should be quite… enlightening."

Alistair was looking at Morrigan with more than a little distaste. His eyes were lingering on the worn staff and he questioned Ffion without bothering to lower his voice,

"Do we really want to bring her along simply because her mother wants us to?"

Morrigan's eyes were sparking in his direction and Ffion spoke first.

"We owe Flemeth our lives and if this is all she wants in payment, consider yourself lucky," Her voice was sharp. She didn't like being put on the spot and the fact that he was allowing her to make the important decisions did not sit well with her. Alistair was the senior Warden and in Ffion's mind that made him the responsible one for all of this and instead he was deferring to her. Normally she would jump at such an opportunity, but it was very different playing war and peace and taking an active role in it, "Morrigan is welcome and we should be thankful she knows this land well."

The witch sent Alistair a triumphant, rather poisonous look and then smiled faintly at Ffion. The young Warden looked dead on her feet still and her grey eyes were even paler with the dark circles under them. She was straightening her shoulders and trying not to wince.

"Well, I suppose there is nothing left to say but good bye," Morrigan said to her mother, turning her attention from Ffion.

"Behave yourself, girl," Flemeth cautioned, "You will have better luck returning if you do."

"But Ffion just-"

"Don't coddle me," Ffion interrupted Alistair impatiently, "I'm not dying and broken ribs are not new to me. I'll be fine."

Alistair let out a huff of breath and glanced between the two women that were to be his companions for Maker knew how long. It was going to be a long trip.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Another descriptive chapter and thanks again to all my readers! You're wonderful! All the best, guys.

* * *

Denerim was unsettled. Not only did Ostagar prove to be a colossal failure with the loss of 'Good King Cailan', but Darkspawn were now attacking the more remote posts and villages. Add to that: Loghain had returned to the city, proclaimed himself regent to Queen Anora and blamed the Grey Wardens for the death of Cailan and destruction of Ostagar. This was met with more than a little disbelief. Most people were extremely reluctant to entertain such a disloyal thought, but it was Loghain's word against nothing but the bodies and smoke left at the ruins. No one was left to dispute his claim, at least none that the public knew of. The general had done his best to bear down on the stragglers and deserters from the battle and those lucky enough to escape him were seeking refuge in the Wilds and might possibly never resurface.

Bann Teagan Guerrin paced in irritation, waiting for Loghain to make his appearance at the city-hall gathering. Around him, townsfolk with heavy purses and the nobles they delighted in rubbing shoulders with were milling and chattering. The tone of voices, the strain of conversation, were all leaning towards fear of what tomorrow might bring. The uncertainty was the killer here and so far they had heard nothing of value from Loghain or the queen.

Suddenly a bell rang out and the chatter came to an abrupt halt. On the head high balcony that ran around the great room where everyone was gathered, Loghain walked into view followed by his daughter. Anora was dressed somberly in a dark grey dress with a black sash fastened around her waist. She was as breathtakingly beautiful as always: her blonde hair was caught up in a braided bun and the sleek, graceful way she moved spoke of the royalty that seemed second nature to her. She was not of royal blood but she could have fooled anyone. Her sky blue eyes, usually so clever and quick to take in every little detail, were tired and shadowed today, proof that she was still shocked by the outcome at Ostagar.

Teagan knew for a fact that Cailan and Anora's marriage had been one of convenience, and a blatant power grab by Loghain, but the queen had been quite fond of her husband and Cailan had always seemed in awe of her pale beauty. Looking her over now, the Bann could almost forget his anger and frustration with her father, but not quite. Loghain was not handling the situation well and the nobles not firmly paid off were too few to stand up to him. Someone had to do something.

"My lords and ladies," Loghain's rasping voice called out, breaking through the thoughts in Teagan's head, "Thank you for your patience. I understand how you must be feeling, but now is not the time for petty arguments and endless meetings. We must stand firm against this Darkspawn horde and I will need your help in supplying the ways and means to do so."

"I thought that was what we were doing at Ostagar," Teagan called out, hearing the mockery and frustration in his voice, "I believe that is what the king was attempting when he was slaughtered."

"It doesn't do us any good dredging up what happened at Ostagar here, Teagan," Loghain replied and was speaking shortly, his eyes flashing, "What's done is done. We must deal with the consequences now."

Teagan shoved away from the post he had leaned against and approached the balcony where the general was standing. Loghain had the air of completely assured authority and it grated on the Bann unlike anything else. He paused and glared up at Loghain. He would have to tread rather carefully, the other nobles present were the ones belonging to the general and Teagan would have precious few allies here.

"Is this where we hear about the truth of what happened at the ruins?" He demanded and heard a few shocked gasps behind him. He was borderline accusing Loghain of lying and he continued to press, "We have your account, General, but what of the others? Anyone could simply show up and tell any tale they like and who's to refute them? We need to stand united, General, and eradicate the Darkspawn completely. But how can we do that when you insist on alienating the very warriors that are bred to do so?"

Loghain's face was carefully controlled but his grey-blue eyes were snapping with fire. Teagan was standing tall and proud below him, his blue eyes angry, and the iron of his armor was gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

"Where was it written that Wardens are the only men and women capable of killing Darkspawn?" The general demanded, "Anyone willing to take up a sword and hold firm a line can help us in this battle and we will see that it is done. No more questions, no more demands. We will prepare as best we can and take it to the enemy. It worked with the Orlesians and they were no different than these monsters."

Loghain spared Teagan a withering glare and spun on his heel, leaving the gathering of nobles and disappearing again. The Bann was shaking his head. No questions had even been asked and he was sure he was the only one that was as incensed now as he had been before this... farce began.

"Bann Teagan, please," Anora's cultured voice called.

He turned to her as she placed her slender hands on the balcony railing and gave him an imploring look. It was as though she knew what he was thinking and she wanted to make sure everything was put into the correct light.

"Majesty, your father is willfully ignoring those nobles whose lands and people are suffering the most in these attacks," He said, speaking quickly so as not to be interrupted. There were things that simply had to be said, "He risks civil war while we should be fighting the Darkspawn."

"My father is doing what he feels is best for everyone," She answered and her tone was politely contrary.

Teagan stared for a moment longer, feeling his temper slipping and then he added before he could help himself,

"As he did for your husband, majesty?"

Anora's face changed instantly. Her blue eyes flashed quickly and her expression grew sad. Teagan felt a prick of guilt at his words, but was too incensed to take them back. He turned sharply and headed for the door, not realizing that, with his words, he had planted a seed of doubt and possibly gained one of the strongest allies he could hope for.

* * *

"There," Alistair said with some finality. He waved one hand, "Lothering: pretty as a painting."

Ffion looked out over the little village and arched her brows. 'Pretty as a painting' was being kind; although considering the fact that Lothering was being used as a refuge for those escaping the Darkspawn horde, she wasn't really sure if they could expect any better. They had crested the top of the hill and now started down towards the entrance of the village.

"Well, it appears he has not given up entirely," Morrigan said with her usual arrogance, "Have you finally decided that punishing yourself will not bring the dead back?"

Ffion and Tilly kept walking while Alistair paused to send the witch a poisoned glare. Ffion was tired of their arguments and petty little comments and had so much on her mind she wasn't going to trouble herself with another. The possibility that Fergus had escaped Ostagar as well and may be taking refuge with the rest of the country folk was heavy on her heart and she was eager to find out. Alistair's slightly raised voice called her attention though and she was glancing over her shoulder at them in annoyance.

"Is it really so hard for you to understand that losing someone hurts normal, balanced human beings?"

"Balanced?" Morrigan repeated, seeming truly surprised he would use such a word, "Falling on your sword in grief instead of avenging your friend? 'Tis considered balanced?"

"If you're going to willfully misunderstand me, this conversation doesn't have to continue," Alistair snapped and started towards Ffion and Tilly.

"I am the one being misunderstood," Morrigan pressed, following, "If answering a simple question is too much for your overtaxed brain, simply admit it, yes?"

Alistair wheeled back to her as the witch's words had their desired effect. Ffion snorted, rolling her eyes and interrupted with ease, feeling like she was watching herself and Fergus at ages 6 and 11.

"Are you two really going to go through that again? I thought last night was enough for all of us."

There was clearly no love lost between Alistair and Morrigan and they had given up even pretending to be civil long ago. Alistair annoyed Morrigan with the sheer fact that he was breathing and the witch's ice-queen and holier-than-thou airs rubbed Alistair completely the wrong way. Ffion was at first amused. Alistair was clever and for a while he had been able to peg Morrigan more often than she him. But soon he had dubbed her the 'bitch' because her words were merely meant to hurt and had none of his playful provocation in them. At camp the previous night, they had had it out and Morrigan ended up separating from the camp altogether, situating herself a few yards away and building her own fire. Ffion, still somewhat pissed with Alistair's refusal to take his place as leader of this little band, appointed him the first watch and escaped into her own tent. Flemeth had given them both sturdy little sleeping tents that were pitched with ease and Alistair barely had time to wish her a glum 'good night' before she let the canvas fall, hiding her from view. Now, though, it was broad daylight and there was no convenient tent for her to retreat to.

"If she's still angry about last night, that's her problem," Alistair answered, not even gracing Morrigan with a glance, "She brought all of that on herself."

"Knock it off," Ffion demanded mildly, ignoring the ex-Templar's dark look just as she did Morrigan's triumphant one, "Morrigan does have a point though. You have been quiet, Alistair, is there anything I need to know about?"

They had stopped walking again and Alistair was looking down towards the village, seeming intrigued by the few guards patrolling right at the road. Letting out a sigh, he crossed his arms over his chest and refused to meet Ffion's direct gaze.

"It's just… it doesn't feel right, leaving like we did," He said finally, "I mean… I know Flemeth said it would have been suicide to go back to Ostagar but I… I wanted some form of closure and I don't see that happening now."

"Mother was right. Returning would have-"

"Morrigan, leave Alistair alone," Ffion said and pressed on down the road, feeling the heat of the witch's glare, "And Alistair, quit provoking her. If you two are going to act like spoiled kids, I'm going to treat you like kids."

Alistair couldn't help it. Glancing sidelong at Morrigan as they followed Ffion, he asked,

"Is it really that hard to get it? Let me put it this way, what would you find yourself doing if you lost your mother?"

Ffion's pained sigh was lost under Morrigan's answer,

"Would that be before or after I have stopped laughing?"

Alistair nodded his head as though in deep understanding. He was looking ahead of them now, watching what he had thought were soldiers straighten up and start paying closer attention to them.

"Oh, I get it now," He observed with biting sarcasm, "We're supposed to be shocked that you didn't have any friends growing up right? That's the reason you can't understand what's balanced and what isn't."

"I can be friendly if an occasion calls for it," She snapped back.

Ffion was slowing again, not liking the look of the 'soldiers' that were lining up to meet them. There were six of them, all men, and they leered at Morrigan especially as they approached. The armor they were wearing wasn't a matching set like most militia men and the lot of them were grimy and unshaven.

"'Scuse us, sers," The apparent leader began, "But no one gets in without payin' a toll."

"Toll?" Ffion repeated, allowing Tilly to growl softly at them.

"They're obviously claiming to be highway patrolmen," Alistair explained with disgust, "Preying on the fearful because a bit of honest work is too much to ask."

Morrigan was eyeing the men with as much interest as she would a slug and she didn't bother with lowering her voice or mincing words as she added,

"Highway patrolmen? Thieves, 'tis more like. They are fools to stand in our way."

Ffion was studying the men as well. It was clearly a ruse that they were posing and though her band was outnumbered, Morrigan's confidence was slightly encouraging. None of the thieves were mages and Ffion had yet to see what Morrigan could do.

"Sorry, gentlemen, I'm afraid I agree with my companions," She said genially, "I won't be paying a toll today."

"Can't say I'm pleased to 'ear that," The leader answered, "Come on, fellas, take the toll outta their 'ides."

In the blink of an eye, Morrigan's staff was in her hand and Alistair and Ffion felt that familiar surge of the atmosphere. A second later, the first four men were frozen where they stood and one of the remaining two had his helm knocked completely askew by Ffion's handy toss of her knife. The other was petrified and Ffion arched her brows at both of them, shrugging her shoulders.

"I didn't have to miss your friend and if you don't want to lose your other men to hypothermia, I'd surrender."

They glanced rapidly between the frozen men and Ffion's band before nodding. Morrigan released her spell only after Ffion's little wave and the men dropped to the ground, shivering almost uncontrollably.

"Y-y-y-you c-c-can-"

"After what you tried to pull, don't think you can tell me what I can and cannot do," Ffion interrupted and her tone was unforgiving, "If that wasn't enough of a punishment for you, Morrigan would be more than happy to expand on her talents."

Morrigan gave the man cowering at Ffion's feet a poisonously sweet smile and her strange gold eyes were gleaming with malice.

"N-n-no," He said and there was real terror in his eyes.

"I thought not. If you can, get up and run. Leave behind whatever you've taken from the people you've been terrorizing and get the hell out of here."

Getting to their feet, staggering into one another and thanking Ffion profusely for her mercy, the men took off, disappearing down the road. Morrigan watched them go with a sour expression.

"'Tis foolish to let them escape with their lives," She observed as Ffion began going through a box of what was clearly the men's belongings, "An example should have been made of them."

"If that had been a battle, Morrigan, I wouldn't have been much help," Ffion answered, not in the slightest bit stricken that she was pocketing the money the men had stolen, "If you hadn't acted so quickly, that wouldn't have ended well."

Alistair was looking at her with concern. She was not a complainer, nothing had been said of extensive pain and though her face was still pale and her eyes shadowed, he hadn't thought much of it because neither of them had any semblance of normalcy anymore. Now though, she did look incredibly tired and she was wincing as she straightened herself after retrieving her knife.

"What kind of mercy do you think they showed the others?" Morrigan wanted to know.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Alistair said, "Come on, let's go see what kind of news these people might have."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Alrighty, so after this chapter, things will get a little more exciting. We just needed to get past the introductions and everything, which is fun, but the fights are so much easier to write! Anyway, enjoy and take care and happy Memorial Day!

* * *

They entered the village where they were greeted with suspicious glances. All around the courtyards and close to the Chantry were tents with families and the elderly gathered about them. Without consulting the others, Ffion made for the Chantry. Outside, collected close to the steps, was a group of people that were listening to a man that was gesticulating wildly. His voice rose and fell as he got worked up and Ffion had just skirted the crowds and put one foot on the bottom stair when the man singled them out.

"There!" He cried, pointing dramatically at Ffion and Alistair, "These two are tainted just like the beasts! Can't you see it in their faces? Can't you smell it clinging to them? No one is safe! There's no hope!"

"Stop it! You're frightening the children!" A woman exclaimed sounding more than a little frightened herself.

"Are you blind?" He shouted and was looking at the group in disbelief, "These two can't be allowed to live! We must destroy them!"

Ffion's eyes sparked and she shook her head as Morrigan's hand reached for her staff. The crowd showed no inclination of attacking them and two soldiers that were standing at the Chantry doors had stepped forward slightly so they could grab the man if he became violent. Alistair was snorting and he spoke before Ffion could,

"Can you cluck like a chicken while you do that?"

Ffion was laughing before she could help it and so were the soldiers. A few in the crowd were smiling faintly and the tension was lessening some. Only the doomsayer was still outraged. He drew himself up, still a whole head and shoulders shorter than Alistair, and glared at the ex-Templar.

"Are you calling me a coward?"

"He's calling you an idiot," Ffion cut in and the amusement was gone. Her voice was now as soothing as Alistair's was provoking, "Think about what you're saying, man, about what that might mean. Do you really think that rolling over and giving up is the right thing to do?"

"I won't listen to you," He said and clamped his hands childishly over his ears, "You belong with them; I won't listen!"

Turning about sharply, he ran across the open square of the village and disappeared amongst the few houses there. Ffion watched him go in surprise and was wishing that Gilmore had been there to see that. Pain constricted her heart so fiercely she felt short of breath and she shook her head again.

"Well, so much for that," She said and continued up the steps and into the Chantry.

The atmosphere in the building was even gloomier than that without and the hush that had fallen over those praying seemed to seep into every corner of the place.

"Are you looking for news here?" Alistair questioned in an undertone as Morrigan looked about with unveiled disgust.

"No, we'll go to the inn for that," Ffion was absentminded as her eyes roved the entry.

She finally spotted a captain that was addressing a few of his men and she approached him, waiting until he had dismissed his soldiers before speaking. Her noble upbringing was forefront in her mind, of course, and she was pleased to see that the captain dealt with the situation correctly. He bowed to her and was politely interested as he questioned,

"My lady, is there something I can help you with?"

"I wanted to talk to you about the highway patrolmen just outside the city," Ffion began, starting to unfasten the money pouch from her belt.

"Oh, Andraste's knickers!" The captain exclaimed, frustrated, "How many times are we going to have run those bastards off?"

The curse sounded too much like Fergus and Ffion was tugging the pouch loose harshly, handing it over so she could distract herself from the second stab of pain.

"One less," She answered, "Here's what they had taken. Put it to good use to help these folks."

The captain hefted the money bag in his hand and was looking at Ffion in surprised pleasure.

"You ran them off?" He clarified, "For good, you think?"

"I would say so, sir," A soldier commented, stepping forward. He dipped a bow to the group and added, "Cari told me the men were fleeing north and didn't seem at all likely to come back soon."

The captain was smiling in pure relief now and he handed the money bag over to the soldier who dipped another bow and left.

"You have my thanks, serah," He told her, "Those men have been giving us hell for the past three days. We would chase them off only to have them return further down the road. Is there any way I can convince you to accept a donation from the village for payment?"

Ffion immediately accepted. Money was an issue already in their little band and she was worried they would run out long before they even came close to Redcliffe. They left the Chantry and headed across town for the inn. It was clear by the bustle at the place that no one was too terrified to go and have an ale or two. Voices ran over each other and they didn't even need to ask to find out the news. The Darkspawn horde was the main concern and everyone was announcing their worries and fears loud enough for anyone to hear. But it was soon obvious that no one seemed to be aware of what Denerim was planning. Morrigan and Ffion stood back a little with Tilly as Alistair moved about the men, gleaning what he could and it was the witch who first spotted the two soldiers.

"Trouble," She murmured to Ffion.

The men were studying Alistair closely and one motioned to Ffion herself, leaning close to his companion to say something in his ear. Tilly went on the defensive, positioning herself between them and her lady as they approached. Sensing the same danger, Alistair was once more right beside her elbow.

"Well, well," One of the men said and his voice was cultured enough to tell them he was high-born and from Denerim, "Haven't we been asking for a man and woman of this exact description all morning? Either the townspeople here are stupider than we realized or this is our lucky day."

Ffion's brows arched and she tried her best to extinguish the little sparks of fear that went through her. If she wasn't up for dealing with a few poorly armed thieves then there wasn't any way she could make a clean break with two fully armed and well-rested soldiers. Behind her, she could feel Morrigan's distrust and Alistair's hand went casually to the hilt of one of the knives in his belt. Tilly hadn't stood down and Ffion made no move to restrain her.

"Is there a problem?" She asked, forcing her voice to indifferent politeness.

"You're from Ostagar. A _Warden_ from Ostagar; both of you are," The man answered, "General Loghain has issued that Wardens are those responsible for the death of King Cailan and the bounty on your head is too good to pass up."

"Gentlemen, please," A new voice interrupted in a lilting, musical Orlesian accent, "Surely there is another way to settle this?"

They turned to see a Chantry sister approaching them. Her straight, copper colored hair swung just below her chin and she was barely as tall as Ffion. Her pale blue eyes were lively, but there was something hard and sad in them that said there was more to her than anyone would expect. Her pale, slightly freckled skin was tinted red with indignation and though her small fists were clenched, she was making no move for the shortblade hanging at her back.

"This does not concern you, sister," One of the soldiers said gruffly and they were fixed on the others again, "Stand aside if you don't wish to be hurt."

"We're not going anywhere with you," Alistair replied and was clearly not in the mood for any games, "And if it's a fight you want, then you'll get it."

"Brilliant," The man answered.

In the blink of an eye, all weapons were drawn and Morrigan and Ffion were brought up short just as quickly. The Orlesian woman was even faster than Tilly and she had one of the soldiers on his knees with a wicked looking dagger to his throat. The Mabari had obviously helped with this as she was firmly locked on the man's ankle. Alistair, meanwhile, was successful in knocking the other's blade from his hand and backing him into the wall. Grimly amused, Ffion couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief that she wasn't going to have to fight and ignored the way the inn had fallen silent. She stepped towards the man the Orlesian was holding hostage and spoke quietly,

"I don't have to do this, but I want a message taken to the Coward General Loghain. The Wardens are not dead and we know what he has done," She leaned closer, trying to ignore the pain, and lowered her voice even more, "And if you come back for us, trust me, my mercy will be long gone and you won't walk away."

The man took her words to heart, his green eyes widening. He had clearly been looking for easy targets and he wasn't prepared for this. Ffion stepped back and nodded to the Orlesian before waving one hand at Alistair. When the man before her tried to move, Tilly clamped tighter with a growl and he froze again, his eyes on Ffion. She arched her brows.

"Remember your promise," She murmured dangerously, "Tilly."

The Mabari let go and was beside her lady. Without a word, faces burning with shame, the men scurried out the door, leaving the weapons where they had fallen.

"At least it did not come to any deaths," The Orlesian sighed with contentment.

Ffion turned to face her and smiled slightly. She wouldn't have minded the deaths so much, she just wasn't up for the fight, not yet anyway.

"Thanks," She said and realized that conversation had resumed again, this time with more gusto. Apparently the soldiers were not worthy of sympathies here, "That could have been quite ugly without your help."

"It is true then? You are Wardens? Oh, where are my manners? I am Leliana, Chantry sister here in Lothering, although soon enough I suppose I will be nothing but a wandering bard, with the Darkspawn approaching," Leliana spoke rapidly, bounding from one subject to the next and she seemed oblivious to the fact that she had lost Ffion, Alistair was gaping at her and Morrigan seemed to want nothing more than to cast a spell to make her disappear entirely, "I am sorry, interrupting you again. You said you were Wardens, did you not?"

Ffion glanced quickly at the other two before venturing an answer. She wasn't sure she'd even be able to get that done, considering Leliana's quirk of answering questions herself.

"We are," She said quietly, "But I don't think that's the best thing to spread right now. As soon as we gather some supplies, we will be gone. I don't want any trouble."

"You won't get any from Thom," Leliana replied promptly, "He has no love for the Denerim soldiers and those two were depleting his stores. If you have time to wait for another 20 minutes, I will have my things together."

Ffion was frowning and exchanging glances with Morrigan. Alistair, who still hadn't taken his eyes off of Leliana, was the one to speak next.

"Y- your things?" He repeated, blinking in surprise, "What do you mean?"

"My pack," She said and was so sure of herself, they didn't know what to say to her, "I will be going with you, of course. Everything is just across at the Chantry; it won't take more than 20 minutes, I promise."

Morrigan was snorting and Ffion put one hand on Alistair's arm to prevent him from saying anything.

"I'm sorry, sister, I can't have you along," She cut in gently, "There's no need for you to endanger your life by taking up with Wardens."

Pale blue eyes widened and the look on Leliana's face was somewhere between outrage and disbelief.

"Why, because Wardens are enemies of the state?" She demanded, "That has not stopped me, obviously. Besides, I am meant to go with you. The Maker wants me to."

This time, Morrigan laughed outright and Alistair was close to following. Ffion studied Leliana closely, wondering if she had missed something earlier; maybe the sister wasn't all there. But, no, Leliana was looking at her with defiant blue eyes and she was waiting for the ridicule to begin.

"The Maker wants you to come along with us?" Ffion repeated as neutrally as she could.

The Orlesian's confidence was suddenly shaken and she shrugged her shoulders almost helplessly.

"Oh, I know that sounds insane, but it is the truth," She said adamantly, "I saw a... vision or rather... it was a dream. I can't explain it without sounding crazy, all I can tell you is that I was meant to help fight against this Blight and here is my chance. You need help, yes? And in all honesty, can you afford to turn away a willing hand?"

Ffion was silent for so long that Morrigan became suspicious.

"You are not actually considering this, are you?" She questioned, "'Tis madness. It-"

"We can spare 20 minutes, no more," Ffion interrupted, "She's right, we need the help and she can fight."

"You must have hit your head much harder than Mother thought," Morrigan muttered as Leliana gushed her thanks and disappeared out the door.

"Are we a collection agency for the crazies?" Alistair asked as Ffion made her way to Thom, the proprietor that Leliana had pointed out.

Ffion was nonplussed and instead murmured a statement that brought all opposition to a screeching halt where Alistair and Morrigan were concerned.

"If you two aren't careful you'll end up agreeing with each other on everything and then where would we be?"

Thom was more than happy to supply them, and at half price for getting rid of the soldiers, but he had no news of any Ostagar survivors. No one seemed to, and as they were continuing on to Redcliffe, they discovered that Alistair wasn't completely off base and in all likelihood, Morrigan wasn't either. No more than 20 minutes later, the group was leaving Lothering behind with a bubbly and talkative Leliana in tow when they passed by a sturdy, barred and locked cage. Inside was a towering figure with snow-white hair braided tightly in rows down his head and secured in a leather band. His creamy brown skin was roughened by exposure to the weather and deep lines of stress and worry creased his cheeks and brow. Ffion, her curiousity getting the better of her, moved closer to the cage and then couldn't help but stare. The huge, broad-shouldered Qunari was praying in his own tongue, eyes shut against the sun and meandering townsfolk. There were others that slowed as they passed, but none stopped as Ffion did. As though sensing he was no longer alone, the Qunari's violet eyes came open and he glared at her.

"Why are you staring?" He demanded in a gruff, low pitched voice.

"You're a Qunari," She said pointedly, as though he wasn't aware of it.

"And you are a simple minded woman," His hard gaze traveled over her companions with about as much interest as he would have shown a flea.

Ffion wasn't rebuffed by his rudeness. She had never seen a Qunari in the flesh before. All of the books she had read reiterated the point that they were a brutal, savage people and she was fascinated.

"Is there a reason you have been caged?" She asked, pleased that her voice was all polite interest.

He wasn't impressed and neither was Morrigan. The witch made a protesting noise in the back of her throat, which Ffion ignored, and the Qunari returned his glare to her.

"You are also impertinent."

"I believe the revered mother had him caged for some sort of crime," Leliana's lilting voice was explaining, "I never heard what happened."

"This is a proud, noble creature left as bait for the Darkspawn," Morrigan's voice was even colder than usual and it was clear this kind of punishment didn't suit her, "If ever there was a time for your mercy, Warden, 'tis now."

"Mercy?" Alistair repeated, "From you?"

"Perhaps we can exchange Alistair," The witch added and her gold eyes were amused.

The ex-Templar was nodding in understanding. Leliana's wide-eyed surprise at the venomous conversation was ignored as he replied,

"See, _that_ was more what I was expecting."

Ffion, more than used to their barbed comments, was still looking speculatively at the Qunari. He was impressive and certainly intimidating. His violet eyes were wise and haunted and she knew that while Leliana might serve as an excellent rogue, the Qunari would hold his own as a warrior. And she wanted him to come along.

"Leliana, you said that the revered mother had him caged?" She asked and then continued after the Orlesian answered in affirmation, "Ser, if I have you released, would you be willing to pledge yourself to me? I am a Grey Warden, as well as Alistair here, and we are in need of aid against the Blight. Whatever you have done, I don't care, and the Maker will deal with you how he sees fit."

The strange eyes were on hers and the Qunari was rethinking his first impression of her, she was sure. He looked confused for a moment and then smoothed his face into an expressionless mask.

"And if I don't wish to serve whatever purpose you have for me?" He questioned.

Ffion shrugged, feigning indifference and trying to hide the fact that his talk of desertion actually stung a little.

"We'll kill you," She answered simply and could have sworn she earned a quirk of the lips, "You clearly do not mind the thought of death. Whether you die in my presence or you are left for the Darkspawn... at the moment it's up to you."

"And the revered mother," He added.

"Leave her to us," Leliana said firmly, grabbing Ffion's hand and tugging her back into town, towards the Chantry.

Alistair and Morrigan's gazes were as wide as Ffion's, but Tilly was the only one that reacted. She didn't attack the Orlesian like Ffion was afraid she would, instead she merely trotted after them like it was an everyday occurrence for her lady to be pulled away from her. Leliana didn't let go of Ffion's hand until they reached the Chantry's courtyard and then she did so abruptly. Ffion staggered, putting one hand out to steady herself against Tilly's body. She glanced up at Leliana but the Orlesian was already pulling the Chantry doors open. Frustrated and a little amused for the first time in days, she followed after her as Leliana marched into the revered mother's office. The elderly woman was surprised and pleased to see the Orlesian and she smiled, her kind brown eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Sister Leliana," She greeted, "I thought you had departed some time ago."

"That was my plan, your reverence, but I could not leave without giving some of the poor folk aid."

The revered mother was smiling fully now and she inclined her head. She replaced her quill in the pot of ink and picked up the letter she was writing, waving it back and forth to let it dry.

"I am not surprised to hear that," She replied and her brown eyes went to Ffion who had remained behind with Tilly, "I'm sorry, child, is there something you need of me?"

Ffion flushed and stepped forward, clasping her hands in front of her and wondering how they were going to pull this one off. She glanced sidelong at Leliana and then took the leap.

"I was wondering if you could tell me more about the Qunari imprisoned just outside of town?" Ffion began abruptly.

To her surprise, the revered mother's gentle eyes were snapping with fire. She got to her feet and started pacing restlessly. Her expression was distraught and she was warring with herself.

"Perhaps it would have been kinder to execute him and just finish this," She was speaking quietly and it seemed as though she forgot she had guests. Her hands twisted and she glanced at the small idol of Andraste on her desk. Shoulders straightening, she was the revered mother again and she met Ffion's gaze defiantly, "But I have to stand by my decision. What he did... No, this is for the best."

Ffion was burning with curiousity at what the Qunari's sin could possibly be and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask when Leliana cut in.

"Maybe it is not our place to judge, your reverence," She offered quietly, "Maybe the Maker would like to deal out justice himself, who are we to interfere?"

"And then we will be responsible for the deaths of his next victims. Can you live with that consequence, Leliana?" The revered mother answered and her voice was severe.

Ffion could see the effects of these words in Leliana's face. The Orlesian looked stricken and her gaze was flickering with guilt. Ffion was annoyed; she hated those games and she was stepping forward, her old habits ruling and her tongue getting the better of her.

"Stop," She said sternly, "I am a Grey Warden and I wish to recruit the Qunari to our ranks. He will be under my custody and if he doesn't take to it, I will kill him. Either way, judgement is dealt and you need not trouble yourself with unnecessary guilt."

The revered mother waffled for a moment and then realized that Ffion was not going to roll over and play her game. The young woman was clearly far too used to getting her own way and her grey eyes were challenging.

"Leliana, do you hold this same belief?" The revered mother questioned, still studying Ffion as though she knew she'd seen her somewhere before, "You know your friend better than I."

"I do, your reverence. The Maker will judge us all and that includes the Qunari."

"Very well," The older woman said briskly. She crossed the room and pulled a heavy key ring from one of her cupboards, "The Qunari is yours, Warden. Maker bless you for your mercy, I don't know who else will."

Ffion felt a prick of unease. Her mother would not have approved of her actions at all and the thought wore at her. Eleanor was the most religious of the family and the fact that her daughter had treated a revered mother with such abruptness would have shocked her. Pain she knew she'd never be free of radiated through her heart, and she was happy when Leliana turned to her with a beaming smile and handed over the large iron key. Tilly sensed all was not right and she whined softly, shoving her head under Ffion's other hand.

"Thank you, your reverence," She murmured quietly. _Here, Marmie, something for you to be proud of_, "Maker guide and bless you," _Pray for me._

They left the Chantry and returned to find Morrigan almost chatty with the Qunari while Alistair watched with a glum look. He lit up when he saw Ffion though and his astonishment matched the Qunari's as she presented the key.

"You… you kept your word," The Qunari said in amazement, his violet eyes shocked, "I wasn't sure you really would do such a thing."

"It comes from being impertinent and simple minded," Ffion answered, keeping her voice neutral as Alistair chuckled, "I don't make promises lightly… Er, I never caught your name?"

The Qunari was impassable once more though he was growing more impressed by the moment. He sized up the little woman before him and then gave a slow nod like he was resigning himself to this fate.

"I am Sten of the Beresaad and I swear loyalty to you and your order. Call when you need me and I will be there. Perhaps, through you, I can find my atonement."

Ffion frowned as she stepped forward and inserted the key into the heavy padlock. She looked up at Sten and was once more impressed by his size and severe expressions.

"And if I don't lead you to atonement?" She asked, "I mean, I will certainly do my best but… a lot of pressure, don't you think?"

Sten's face darkened and whatever previous softening he felt towards her was disappearing as quickly as it sprang up.

"Then I will find my own, woman," He replied, his voice sharp and more than a little poisonous, "Do not for a moment believe I need you to accomplish my tasks in Ferelden."

Alistair was impressed with Ffion's impassive look. He would be terrified to face down the Qunari if he was looking at him with such black hatred. Instead, the young woman merely shrugged her shoulders and unlocked the barred cage. She stepped back and swung the door open.

"So long as we're both clear on that subject," She muttered and made Leliana giggle, "My name is Ffion, if you care. This is Alistair, Morrigan, and Leliana," Tilly let out a protesting whine, "And Tilly, of course."

The Qunari nodded, his face expressionless. He rolled his shoulders and tipped his head from side to side and relief flickered across the creamy brown features. Ffion was studying him rather frankly and her grey eyes landed on his violet.

"We are headed for the village of Redcliffe," She told him, "Do you need-"

"Then let us move on," His deep voice interrupted, "I am eager to leave this place."

Ffion looked at him a moment longer, clearly they were going to have to make the leadership role between them very prominent. She nodded her head and turned to lead the way out of town. A motley group perhaps, but this predilection for 'collecting crazies' would work in the end, she was sure.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** This one is a little shorter than last week's, but I found a good stopping point. And, as a very random side-note, I'm really liking writing Alistair and Ffion's conversations, it's fun. Anyway, take care and all the best!

* * *

"Here," Alistair's voice broke through Ffion's thoughts and he was stepping over her legs to sit on the log she was leaned against, "I should have given this to you while we were at Ostagar, but… well, everything went to hell."

He was handing her a small pendant that was strung on a slender chain. The pendant was brushed glass and inside was a thick, dark liquid. She frowned as she took it in one hand. The other was stroking Tilly's ears and she looked up at him with a sardonic smile, as though expecting him to tell her this was one of his jokes.

"Is this-"

"Darkspawn blood? Yep," His voice was downright chipper and he was poking at the fire with a branch that had been laying nearby, "The Grey Wardens sure know how to give gifts, don't they? It's actually meant to be a reminder of those that didn't make it and it's really the only tangible thing that we have that reminds us we're Wardens. Well, that and the nightmares."

"Are those going to get better or will they get worse?" She questioned, not sure she could stand them getting any more painful and horrifying then they were now. Reliving the chaos at Highever with her family _blaming_ her instead of urging her to save herself was about the worse punishment life could throw at her and she sure as hell didn't want to find out how it could be made more awful.

"From what I've been told, the nightmares are worse when there is a Blight coming," The ex-Templar gave a shrug, "Not getting a good rest makes everything even worse so... I guess my answer is, yes, they'll get better, but only if we live through this and stop the Archdemon. No sweat, right?"

She gave an absent smile at that, resigning herself to her fate. Her eyes went back down to the pendant as she shook it back and forth, watching the blood creep up and down the glass.

"It's quite the distinction though, isn't it?" She said slowly, thinking of 'those that didn't make it'..., "I mean, drinking poison and living?"

He chuckled and pushed hard enough at one of the burning logs that it collapsed into the embers, sending sparks shooting up into the sky. Across the fire, Sten was staring at the flames and didn't even blink at Alistair's actions. Leliana was seated not far from Ffion. She had been listening with half an ear to their conversation, but now she pulled a small harp from her pack and started tuning it. She was humming quietly and the sound was soothing. Morrigan had once more separated herself from them and though her fire was still burning, she had disappeared into her tent.

"Yeah, about that," Alistair began and his voice had dropped, becoming sheepish, "Well, you're right, we drink poison, and it should kill us right away. The fact that it doesn't is amazing in itself, but…"

Ffion's grey eyes were fixed on him and he was refusing to look at her. She frowned again.

"But?" She pressed, "But what?"

"It's a death sentence either way," He answered and his honey colored eyes went to hers quickly, gauging her reaction, "The taint gives us the ability to fight the Darkspawn more efficiently than other warriors, but we don't have the luxury of growing old. The norm is 30 years."

"30 years?" Ffion echoed, blinking in surprise. Leliana was strumming the harp and singing softly in Orlesian. Her voice was beautiful and haunting, fitting this conversation perfectly, "And that's the norm? So some live longer and-"

"And some less," Alistair's voice was apologetic and he was looking at her worriedly, "I'm sorry, Ffion. This is a conversation Duncan should have had with you, but like I said, everything went to hell."

She nodded, looking back down at the flames. Her hand was still stroking Tilly's ears and the pendant was clasped loosely in the other. _30 years?_ Her head repeated. It kept scrolling through her thoughts and then she had to wonder why this felt so oppressive. For the past few weeks she had had no plans beyond getting revenge on the bastard Howe and, in all honesty, she wasn't even sure she wanted to live beyond that. What was there to live for? Her family was gone, her home was most likely burned to the ground, the gardens salted so nothing would grow again; a Blight had begun and she was now sitting around a fire with three strangers who were all looking to her for their next move. Looking to her as though she had all the answers. She glanced at Morrigan's tent, half tempted to go and ask the witch for some advice on what to do because, as long as she was being honest with herself, this new bitterness gave her more in common with Morrigan than any of the others.

"Ffion? Are you okay?"

Alistair was looking at her with such concern that she felt herself soften. He was more than a little uncomfortable and she knew he hated being placed in this position.

"I'm fine," She answered, realizing with a jolt that Sten was staring at her as well. He already thought her weak, she wasn't going to give him more ammunition on that front, "It's just a little... shocking, that's all."

"You're telling me," He replied and was once more happy-go-lucky Alistair. Pushing at the logs again, he glanced briefly at Leliana who had continued to sing, "I didn't talk to Duncan for about a week after he told me, I was so furious."

Ffion noted how his features tightened and he looked eternally sad. Softening even more, she slipped the pendant over her head and straightened up against the log.

"Do you want to talk about him?" She asked softly. _Sure, Ffion, take on another's burdens._ That little voice in her head admonished. _So you want to break even sooner? What about _your_ troubles?_

Sten's voice was interrupting before Alistair could reply.

"I am going to bed," He said, "Are we keeping a watch tonight?"

Ffion glanced at him, feeling her heart twist at the pain on Alistair's face. The Qunari was standing, his usually impassive expression firmly in place.

"Yes, Alistair is first tonight and I follow him," She answered, "I'll wake you when you're needed."

He nodded and retreated to the extra tent she had given him. Leliana paused in her singing, watching Sten leave. Her pale blue eyes went to Ffion.

"Do you need me?" She asked, "You look exhausted."

Ffion smiled a little. She felt exhausted. The incessant pounding in her head was gone, thanks to Morrigan, but her ribs were on fire and her shoulders were aching. What she needed was comfort and rest, but she was a far cry from it. Alistair's comments on the nightmares meant that wasn't happening anytime soon and she had to deal with the problems at hand.

"Thanks, Leliana, but we'll sort out something more permanent after we leave Redcliffe," She said finally.

The Orlesian nodded reluctantly, gathering her things as she yawned.

"Well, if you change your mind, let me know."

She disappeared into her tent and left the two Wardens alone. Alistair knew she had done it for him and wished he could thank the annoying, but very kind, Chantry sister. His honey colored eyes went to Ffion's grey and he lifted his shoulders self-consciously.

"You don't have to do that," He said, continuing their conversation.

She mimicked his shrug, smiling down at Tilly as the Mabari put her head in her lap. Her fingers traced their way up the dog's blunt nose and Tilly's eyes closed, her stub tail wagging.

"I know," She replied, "But I guess I just want you to know that you can always talk to me. I understood that Duncan was your mentor and I have lost enough to know what you're going through."

Alistair slipped down, sitting on the grass beside her, and stretching his long legs towards the fire. He leaned back against the log and tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn.

"I can believe that," He studied the flames and added slowly, "I already told you that it didn't feel right not going back and I understand what Flemeth meant, but… I - I just hated leaving without… I don't know…"

"Being sure?" She asked, looking sidelong at him.

"Yeah, I guess. I mean that puts it better than I know how. Being a Warden, we can't usually afford to hold funerals, but I want to do something for him," Alistair was speaking to his hands now, "He came from Highever, as far as I know. At the end of all of this, if there's an end, I'd like to do something for him. Maybe hold a service or… I don't know, just something."

Ffion had to tell herself to unclench her hands as she replied,

"I think he'd like that. Maybe I could go with you. Duncan was there for me when I needed him and I like that idea."

Alistair smiled at her then and even though she was still cracking into little pieces, it felt wonderful to help him start healing.

* * *

Teagan was almost eager to get to the Chantry, something new for him. He had never been the religious type and it was odd to find himself nearly going to his knees in front of the table of candle offerings. Last night was the worst yet. The abominations were even more fierce than the past nights and he wasn't sure they would live to see another morning. He was driven to the altar by sheer desperation and he was happy that the revered mother left him alone. He was the one the townsfolk were looking to for direction now and he couldn't let them see how hopeless their cause might be.

Footsteps sounded behind him and he half turned to see Murdock striding in. The village mayor was glowering more than usual, not that he blamed him, and his hazel eyes were dark with exhaustion. He dropped unceremoniously onto a pew and rubbed his face with one hand. His powerful shoulders were sagging and his black hair was hanging lankly about his neck.

"Three nights," He said, his deep voice rasping, "How are we going to make it another?"

Teagan sighed, his blue eyes going up to the statue of Andraste.

"I don't know, Murdock," He answered softly and settled onto the pew next to the mayor, "Any reinforcements would come too late and we can't even guarantee that. The Darkspawn are the more pressing threat."

"So, you think this will be it."

Murdock was not asking and Teagan was grateful the mayor was one of those more practical men. He had fought the Orlesians in the past and would fight to the death now, but he wouldn't mislead anyone with talk of false hope.

"I am afraid it might," Teagan leaned against the pew and glanced around the Chantry.

The woman and children had been kept here for the past nights during the attacks, those women that didn't feel they could fight, that is. Elderly folk were here as well, and the whole atmosphere was gloomy with an utterly hopeless feel. There were too many fathers, sons, husbands, brothers; wives, sisters, daughters and in some cases, mothers, that would not be returning home if and when this was resolved and he felt the weight of it even more profoundly than before.

"It's mid-morning already," He said unnecessarily, "We have to make some sort of attack plan."

"About that, ser," Murdock was hesitant for the first time since any of this started.

"Murdock, we've spent the last three nights fighting together," Teagan cut in with a faint smile, "My name is Teagan without the 'ser'."

"Right, thanks," The mayor sighed again, "Teagan, it's not good. Owen, the stupid bastard, has locked himself up in his smithy and refused to forge any more weapons for the men."

Teagan frowned, sitting forward again and meeting Murdock's gaze.

"Why?"

"Like almost everyone else in village, he has someone trapped at the castle. His daughter, I think, and he won't take my word for it that it's a ridiculous thing to go and look for her," Murdock was shaking his head, "So his solution is to board himself up and drink himself to death."

Teagan got to his feet. He raked one hand through his hair and tried to get his thoughts into some sort of order.

"Have one of your men watch the roads and flag down any passersby, we need all the help we can get," He said, "I'll go and talk to Owen."

"Anything else, Teagan?" Murdock asked as the younger man started down the aisle to the door.

Teagan glanced over his shoulder at the mayor. He looked at the candle offerings and statue of Andraste, wishing he could have found the peace he was looking for. He waved one hand at it all and nodded his head.

"Yes. Pray."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** The next installment and pretty much on time! This is one of my favorite chapters so far. Enjoy!

* * *

"Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?" Alistair asked, his face anxious.

Ffion's brows went up in surprise. She glanced beyond him and motioned to the thatched roofs of Redcliffe that dotted the shore of the lake below them.

"Can it wait? I mean, we made good time to get here and-"

"That's what I need to talk about," He interrupted and glanced at the others with some trepidation.

She sighed and waved for the others to move on without them. Sten was frowning and Morrigan opened her mouth to argue.

"Go on," Ffion ordered before either one of them could say anything. She wished, not for the first time, that they simply _listened_ to her. They seemed to want her in charge anyway and so one would think they would follow her direction, "We'll be there in a minute."

Leliana pressed on without a word and the others had no choice but to follow. Ffion turned to Alistair and folded her arms across her chest. Being close to Lake Calenhad was a blessed relief from the dry heat of the road, and she had to admit that her mother had been right: Redcliffe was among the most beautiful little villages in Ferelden. The castle was framed against the bright blue of the lake that stretched for a few miles behind it and the cottages, inns, and other businesses nestled in front of both, secure in the knowledge that they were safe.

"I'm probably not going to like this, right?" Ffion was short with him. Her blunt, honest conversation had returned in the past few days and she knew it was thanks to Sten and Morrigan's continued campaign to have more influence over the group's agenda.

Alistair looked sheepish and Ffion got her answer in that. His honey colored eyes studied the castle and village for a moment before looking back at her.

"No, probably not, but you did say I could talk to you and I want to be fair, so if you could just hear me out," He took a deep breath and continued, "I told you that I was raised in Redcliffe castle before I was shipped to the Chantry, right? And Arl Eamon took me in without question because my parents were gone? Well, the truth is that while my mother was dead, my father was still alive."

Ffion's frown deepened and she shifted her weight.

"What do you mean?" She asked, "What does this have to do with coming to Redcliffe?"

"Eamon took me in because he felt… obligated. My father was his brother-in-law," Alistair was looking at her like he was expecting her to put the rest of the information together.

"Brother-in-law?" Ffion repeated, "But that would mean… _Maric?_ You're _Maric's_ son?"

Alistair was wincing now, practically able to feel her sudden withdrawal from him. _Well, what did you expect?_ A voice in his head asked. _Has _anyone_ ever treated you the same after they were told?_

"Yes, and my mother was a serving girl that died giving birth to me," He answered and even he could hear how scripted this explanation was becoming, "Eamon has been more of a father to me than Maric ever was and Cailan wasn't ever too interested in a bastard brother."

Ffion was still trying to get her thoughts in order. Her shock was soon taken over by frustration and her arms folded tighter across her chest as she met his gaze severely.

"And you don't think that's something I would need to know?" She asked, her voice becoming sharper.

"I'm telling you now."

"That's not what I meant, Alistair, and you know it. This goes beyond your jokes and could solve all our problems. Your claim to-"

"No," He interrupted and his voice was flat though his eyes were beginning to light with anger, "I've never wanted the throne, and it was made very clear while I was growing up that it wouldn't ever be mine."

"But, Alistair, Loghain won't be able-"

"_No_, Ffion," He was exasperated, "The only reason I told you was so you didn't find out from someone else in the village. I really don't want you to think that I'm doing this so I can be made king."

"So he is a _royal_ bastard?" A cool voice commented, "That explains a great deal."

Alistair threw his hands up in disgust as Morrigan came into view, eyebrows arched and lips curled into a poisonous smile. Her gold eyes were gleaming and she sent Alistair the usual withering glance.

"What is it, Morrigan?" Ffion questioned, sending the ex-Templar her own annoyed look.

"I believe we have waited long enough. And you will want to hear what the lookout man we found has to say. 'Tis most… enlightening," She added this last with another sidelong glance at Alistair.

"Alright," Ffion sighed. She met Alistair's gaze again. His jaw was set and she knew that he wouldn't be easily convinced that the best thing for everyone would be his acceptance of his birthright. She would have to be patient, not her strongest point, "Thanks for telling me, Alistair. You're right, it's better to hear this from you than from anyone else."

She didn't wait for his response. Instead she fell into step beside Morrigan, Tilly at their heels.

"A lookout?" She asked the witch, "Is there something the matter?"

"It seems so," Morrigan answered, "The man is terrified and Sten is not helpful while trying to extract information from him."

"Of course he wouldn't be," Ffion muttered, faintly amused by the fact that the witch seemed pleased by this, "He hasn't threatened any dismemberment, has he?"

"Not as yet."

They came around a bend in the road and caught up with the others. Sten was glowering at a young man with reddish blonde hair whose terrified expression wasn't easing any with Leliana's soothing words. His hazel eyes kept straying to the Qunari as though he expected to be devoured by him and Alistair and Ffion's appearance clearly relieved him.

"Are you here to help?" The man demanded, "Did word finally get out?"

Alistair and Ffion exchanged glances and Ffion looked at Morrigan with arched brows. The witch lifted her shoulders.

"'Tis all he would ask us," She said, "I do not know what he means."

"Then has no one heard?" The lookout's face was astonished.

Alistair was frowning at him and took the initiative.

"What do you mean? Is there something wrong with the Arl's family?"

The young man threw up his arms and his face got even longer. He was exasperated and not bothering to hide it.

"They could be dead for all we know," He said sharply, "We can't get into the castle, and for the past three nights we have been attacked by… by monsters. They have wiped out most of the forces in Redcliffe and we don't know if we can make it another night. Bann Teagan has been trying to hold everyone together but-"

"Bann Teagan?" Alistair interrupted, "The Arl's brother is here?"

"Yes, ser, should I take you to him?"

"That would probably be for the best, thanks," Ffion answered.

The air in the village was gloomy and desperate. The men practicing in the courtyard had drawn, exhausted expressions and when the lookout man lead them into the Chantry, that pessimism seemed to deepen further. Here, the women and children were seeing to the elderly townsfolk. Their provisions were understandably meager and no one was too interested in eating at the moment. The progression of Ffion's little band was followed with curious gazes and the sounds of muffled sobs lessened as the newcomers came into view. Ffion ignored this, keeping her eyes ahead on the tall, well-built young man standing towards the front of the Chantry. He turned as they approached and looked over the band with interest before addressing the lookout.

"Tomas, right?" He asked in a cultured, pleasant voice.

"Yes, my lord," Tomas replied and gave a wave with one hand, "These people here wished to speak with the Arl and then asked to be brought to you."

"Thank you, Tomas, you may return to your post," The Bann's blue eyes went to their group and he smiled a little, "You desired to speak with Eamon? I'm sorry, but right now it's impossible."

Teagan's voice was still polite, but distant. He clearly didn't believe they needed to know anymore of the circumstances here and Alistair was quick to rectify this.

"You remember me, don't you, Teagan?" He asked and nothing in his tone revealed how upset he was about the Arl's illness, "The last time we saw each other, I was nine years old and covered in mud."

"Covered in mud?" Teagan repeated and then smiled genuinely, making the blue eyes crinkle at the corners and dropping years from his face, "Maker, I'm glad you're all right, Alistair. Loghain would have us believe that all the Grey Wardens died along with… with everyone else at Ostagar."

"No, not all of us are dead," Ffion cut in quietly, and then wished she hadn't. Alistair was taking some of her responsibility from her shoulders and with her words, Teagan was fixing his attention back to her. She knew that her father had been friends with the Arl and he had spoken quite highly of Teagan. The Bann kept looking at her as though he knew her and the last thing she wanted was for someone to recognize her as Bryce Cousland's little girl, "Please, ser, we must speak with the Arl. There's obviously no love lost between you and Loghain, and Alistair said that your brother's influence would be the only thing to sway the other nobles."

Teagan's face was grave and he clasped his hands behind his back, on the verge of pacing.

"Tomas must have told you that we haven't been able to get into the castle and he wouldn't have left out the attacks that we have been suffering. Three nights in a row, monsters, or rather… walking dead, I suppose you could say, have been flooding the village. The attacks last from dusk to dawn and when daylight comes, they retreat to the castle again," Teagan finally gave in and paced restlessly in front of them, "There are no soldiers patrolling the walls and no one has responded to my shouts. Our forces have been needed here and so we haven't dared venture within the castle for fear that all would truly be lost then. So we have been here, trying to hold them off and… praying."

"Not to mention sulking," Morrigan murmured.

Alistair glared while Ffion sent her an annoyed look. Sten gave a single nod and Leliana balked out-right.

"There's no need to be cruel," She admonished and smiled gently at Teagan, "You have been very brave, Bann. The Maker has not abandoned you."

"You have my thanks," He replied and then glanced at Alistair with desperation in his eyes, "But the Maker doesn't suddenly show up fully armed and ready for battle. Alistair, Eamon was like a father to you and you know how much Ferelden needs him now. Please, will you help?"

Alistair glanced at Ffion before he answered.

"It's not that simple, Teagan," He replied slowly, "It's not only up to me."

"But these people need us!" Leliana was close to outrage.

Ffion held up one hand and Sten's deep voice was adding his two bits,

"I agree with the Warden," He said, "This is not a simple choice."

"Perhaps not," Ffion commented thoughtfully.

Teagan was looking at her hopefully and only Morrigan seemed to realize what the young woman was talking about. Her gold eyes widened and she glanced at Ffion in disbelief.

"We are not considering this, are we?" She questioned, "Is the Blight and the traitor Loghain not the more pressing threat?"

"Teagan's right," Alistair argued, "Without Arl Eamon, we don't stand a chance against either. Please, Ffion, we can't abandon them."

Teagan hadn't looked away from the chocolate haired girl who was standing forward, next to Alistair. The chestnut Mabari at her side seemed to be the only one at ease and was leaning against her lady calmly. The girl was weighing the consequences of both choices and it gave him a chance to study her. She was obviously the leader here: the others were looking to her as though she had all the answers, even the intimidating Qunari and Alistair, whom Teagan knew outranked them, and with his royal blood could command anyone he chose. The young woman's grey eyes suddenly landed on his and he wondered why he thought he knew her or, at the very least, had seen her somewhere before. She was not as attractive as the other two women with her, but there was something alluring about her, and her rather haunted gaze drew him in and made him want to comfort her.

"Alistair's right," She said quietly and the effect this had on the ex-Templar and Leliana was the same. Both relaxed and Alistair was smiling at her with pleasure, "We won't abandon you, Bann Teagan. To get any further in our stand against this Blight, we need the Arl's influence and weight behind us."

"Madness," Morrigan muttered under her breath, not bothering to hide it.

Again, the witch was ignored. Teagan was smiling once more; the genuine grin, and he clasped Alistair's hand.

"Thank-you, a million times over, I thank you," He said and then glanced back at Ffion, "I promise, if we live through this night, I will do all I can to help you against this Blight. It was Ffion, correct? Then I promise you, Ffion, if we live to see tomorrow, you will have whatever forces you need from Redcliffe."

Ffion merely nodded and it was Leliana that took the next step. Her pale blue eyes flickered around the Chantry, wanting to help the other sisters.

"Is there anything we can do to help you prepare?"

"You might be able to," Teagan was thoughtful, "Murdock, our town mayor, has been overseeing the men as they get ready for tonight. We have been suffering loses mainly because we haven't been brewing enough health poultices and other potions to assist us. You could go and speak to him about what we might need for tonight. Murdock's hard to miss, he's built like a bear with black hair and an abrasive nature. Don't let that fool you, however. He will be grateful for any help, I'm sure."

Murdock was grateful: after he got over the fact that there were actually _women_ Wardens. He relayed to them the stubborn refusal of the blacksmith Owen and, though he was doubtful they would have success, he seemed genuinely pleased that Ffion agreed to talk to Owen. This didn't go over well with Sten or Morrigan, and as they left the mayor and crossed the courtyard to the smithy, the witch pressed her slender hands together and said with mock brightness,

"Lovely, are we to start rescuing kittens from trees now, too?"

Before Ffion could respond, Sten blinked in confusion, looking down at Morrigan as though seeing her for the first time.

"Trees?" He repeated and was quite serious, "There are not many here and why should we worry about kittens?"

Ffion couldn't help it and her laughter bubbled out of her at Sten's genuine confusion. Leliana was giggling and Morrigan's utter disappointment showed when she met the Qunari's gaze. The witch was speechless and, instead of jumping at this opportunity, Alistair was muttering to Tilly,

"You and I are the only sane ones."

Ffion stopped laughing abruptly, though her eyes were still sparkling. She dropped one hand to the Mabari's head and arched her brows at Alistair.

"Don't contaminate my dog, please, Alistair," She told him, "She's spoiled enough as it is."

Alistair grinned as Tilly let out an affirmative _woof_. His honey colored eyes were dancing in a way they hadn't since Ostagar and his grin was the familiar, crooked one that made Ffion's stomach feel rather funny. She was Ffion Cousland suddenly, not Ffion the Grey Warden, and she wanted to chase this feeling. But, of course, Morrigan and Sten had other plans.

"I agree with the witch," Sten was saying, drawing the conversation back to a more serious strain, "If this man is too much of a coward to come out and fight, then he deserves to die."

Leliana's blue eyes were on the Qunari with absolute disbelief. Her cheeks tinted a little and made her freckles even more apparent.

"How can you be so cruel?" She asked, her accented voice sad, "Who are you to suggest that he hides because he is cowardly? What if there is something much more serious the matter with him?"

Violet eyes locked on blue and disdain radiated from Sten. He drew himself up even further and was towering over the little Orlesian, who wasn't the least bit cowed.

"You are a woman, you cannot grasp this," He said with venom that could have rivaled Morrigan's.

"Compassion is much more difficult to grasp than cruelty," Leliana snapped back and her anger matched Sten's.

Ffion, worried that Sten's uncharacteristic display of restraint would give out at any moment, knocked on the smithy's door. The last thing she wanted was for Leliana to be on the receiving end of whatever the Qunari's fury had in store. Sten was just so _big_ and though Leliana wasn't any taller than Ffion herself, her eyes were flaring with righteous anger and she wasn't about to back down from this argument. Ffion was successful, however, and Sten's attention was diverted when he heard her knuckles rap on the door.

There was a brief moment of silence and then a solid sounding _thud_ from within the smithy. They could just barely make out the string of swearing and unsteady footsteps that approached the door.

"Andraste's bloody knickers, Murdock!" A slurred voice shouted through the rough wood of the door, "I haven' changed me mind an' I'm not gonna!"

Ffion glanced briefly at those gathered behind her, shrugged at Alistair, and then stepped a little closer to the door and lowered her voice. She tried to adopt her mother's silver tongue of persuasion and was pleased when her tone was soothing with just the barest hint of impatience.

"It's not Murdock, Owen," She replied, "I just wished to speak with you for a moment."

This time, the silence lasted longer and then there was another shuffling sound and an intake of breath.

"Who are ya', then?"

"My name is Ffion. Please, ser, may I come in?" She softened her voice even more, "I don't like speaking through this door."

"Why should I? How'd I know ya don' have Murdock with ya? Or maybe yer gonna try and talk me into helpin'. There's no point innit anymore," Owen's words were a little clearer and sounded less slurred this time, but his paranoia was alive and well.

Ffion forced her impatience away and took another calming breath. Tilly whined beside her and she put one hand to the Mabari's head.

"You would have to open the door to make sure Murdock's not here," Her own voice was getting sharper and she really had to focus to prevent her tongue from getting away with her, "And I just want to talk. I heard about your daughter and I want to know if I can do anything to help her."

Owen was quiet again and Morrigan's snort of frustration was clearly audible. Ffion ignored this and couldn't help but cross her fingers. There was the sudden harsh sound of the lock being pulled back and the door opened a sliver. Bloodshot grey eyes peered blearily out at them, taking in the whole group and then landing on Ffion. The big blonde Owen gave her a single nod and opened the door even further. The smell of stale ale and beer wafted out and Alistair's nose scrunched. Before he could say anything smart, Owen's gruff voice interrupted,

"Come in," As everyone stepped forward, he added sharply, "No, jus' her."

"What?" Alistair exclaimed.

"It's fine," Ffion replied and stepped into the smithy, Tilly right behind her, "I won't be long."

Owen shut the door again and the lock slid back into place. Alistair glanced back at the others in alarm. Leliana was faintly amused, Sten unmovable as ever, and Morrigan couldn't have looked more disgusted.

"Absolute madness," The witch muttered and she had slipped her staff loose so that she could perch comfortably on one of the barrels outside the smithy, "Her goodwill and mercy will kill us all."

"It is a comfort to know that some still possess such traits," Leliana remarked and though she seemed to speak to herself, her words were obviously pointed at Sten.

Alistair was ignoring this and listening hard at the door. His honey colored eyes sought out the Qunari's and were worried as he announced,

"I might need your help in breaking down this door, Sten."

Morrigan chuckled softly. Her gold eyes gleamed as she glanced up from tightening one of the leather cords around her staff.

"He will not harm her, Alistair," She said coolly, "No doubt our brave, albeit foolish, leader will agree to whatever the dunce asks of her and she will hasten her way to an early grave to please him."

The door was opened again, startling Alistair. He jumped back and Ffion frowned at him before glancing at Leliana. Behind her, the gleam of a new fire lit up some of the dim smithy and they could make out Owen's shape slumped in a chair.

"Leliana, I need a cup of strong tea, coffee would be even better. I'm sure the Chantry has some available," Ffion's voice was sharp and she was once more in charge of the situation, "Alistair and Sten, let Murdock know that Owen will forge those new weapons for tonight's fight. Give us about another hour and a half or so, though; he needs to sober up a little first. See if Murdock or the other soldiers could use your help with the training. That would be especially good for you, Sten. And, Morrigan," Her gaze was harder now and she glanced at where the witch was quite placidly perched, "Go and see if you can find any kittens to rescue."

The door closed again and Ffion missed the genuine smirk that crossed Morrigan's sharp features. _Foolish, 'tis true._ The witch thought as she settled in a little more comfortably and began pulling herbs from her pack. _But no one can accuse her of stupidity._


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Only a day behind schedule! Whoo-hoo! Thanks for reading, guys, enjoy.

* * *

"Here," Morrigan's soft voice startled Ffion and the young Warden glanced up to see the witch extending a basket to her, "Put these to use."

Ffion accepted the basket, weighing it in her hands. She was settled before a fire that had been lit in the Chantry's courtyard. Dusk was creeping in and the desperation of the village had deepened nearly to a breaking point. Alistair and Sten were still helping the mayor's men and Leliana was lending her aid to those within the Chantry. Ffion had stayed with Owen long enough to sober him up and get the smithy's fires lit once more before withdrawing into herself and ignoring the rest of the bustle around her. This was the first she had seen Morrigan since she told her off earlier, and she couldn't help but poke at the witch.

"You found kittens?" She asked while Morrigan crouched beside the fire.

Black eyebrows arched rather delicately over gold eyes and Ffion almost thought she saw a flicker of amusement in them. The firelight was glowing off Morrigan's features and Ffion felt an unfamiliar twinge of jealousy. The witch had a beauty that made every other girl take an instant hit to her self-esteem and Ffion was no exception. In spite of Morrigan's unappealing traits, she was gorgeous and it was no wonder that she drew the attention of every man they came across. The only other girl that ever succeeded in making Ffion feel this jealous and self-conscious was Oriana, and that was more because Fergus had been so infatuated with the Antivan woman. That familiar hot pain stabbed through her heart at thoughts of her family and she was thankful when Morrigan answered her,

"Your Bann said they needed poultices, yes? There they are."

Ffion was rifling through the contents of the basket and she glanced back up at the witch. She had now settled cross-legged and was staring into the flames as though enraptured.

"That's… very decent of you, Morrigan," Ffion told her quietly, "Thanks; Teagan will be grateful."

"You gave the others tasks; 'twas the least I could do," Morrigan replied and still didn't look at her, "As I told Alistair: I can be friendly when the occasion calls for it."

Ffion pushed Tilly from her legs and stood, looping the basket over her arm. Her grey eyes studied Morrigan again and she asked tentatively,

"Would you like to take this to Teagan yourself, or should I?"

Morrigan's gaze met hers and the superior airs returned. She shrugged her shoulders and was nonchalant.

"'Tis of no concern to me," She answered, "I have done my part and you are actively doing yours. Do not let me stop you."

The Warden sighed and turned to go. She was struck by a sudden realization and she looked back over her shoulder at Morrigan. Night was coming and she couldn't hesitate for too long, but this was something that had been needling her.

"Morrigan, is there something I did that upset you?" She asked, and then added when the witch frowned, "I'm not trying to sound like Alistair or anything, but something is going to have to give here and I'd rather have it out now then let it build."

The witch was impressed and she didn't bother to hide it. Her gold eyes were gleaming and they flickered for a moment before she gave a little nod.

"You have not been honest with us," Morrigan replied easily, stating it as though this was a known fact, "You are not simply a Grey Warden and 'tis quite obvious you have grown up with privileges and amongst nobility. That Bann seems to know you, yes? And yet we are the ones left in the dark. I do not like that, Ffion; even Alistair told his sordid tale."

Ffion's grey eyes flashed and she set her jaw, tightening her hold on the basket. She felt the sting of the words in wounds still raw and her back stiffened.

"Alistair told _me_ about his birthright," She snapped, "And if I remember correctly, you intruded on that _private_ conversation. Besides, we haven't demanded to know every aspect of your life, what does it matter-"

"And we have not demanded anything of you," Morrigan's voice was maddeningly patient, "There is no need to become hostile. I have no intention of saying a word. You asked and that is my answer. I do not like the double standard."

It was Ffion's turn to be impressed. She blinked at the witch, feeling her anger start to lessen. There was no way she could argue with that and she wasn't sure she even wanted to try. Morrigan was being honest with her and she respected this more than anything else.

"You're right, Morrigan," She said softly and then shook her head, "But I can't, there's too much… I just can't. Not now."

The strange gold eyes met hers and the witch studied her for a moment, her expression unreadable.

"That I can respect," She finally said, "And I will hold my tongue, Ffion, I promise. You do not want… certain people to know, obviously, and so I will refrain. No need to fret."

It was on the tip of Ffion's tongue to tell her that they had a great deal to worry about, but she didn't. Instead, she gave a nod and headed for the Chantry's doors. She pushed the pain that the conversation stirred up to the back of her mind and determinedly ignored the little voice that admonished her. _You're merely prolonging the breakdown and making it ten times worse._ It said, sounding more like her mother's voice than her own. _I don't care!_ She argued viciously. _I plan on being dead before it hits me full force anyway. And I'm taking the bastard Howe with me!_

* * *

"We'll give you the signal when to light the oil," Ser Perth, the knight that had been posted at the crossroad leading to the castle, was telling a bored looking Morrigan, "I don't know why we didn't think of this before. It's great that your man found those barrels."

"He is not mine," The witch muttered under her breath and cast Alistair a poisonous glance.

Ser Perth was at a loss and he looked between them, not sure what to say.

"Nevermind her," Alistair said cheerfully, "She's pissed because she had to help others today instead of boiling little children and hunting for toadstools."

The knight's expression was flabbergasted now and he was looking as though he wished he was anywhere but there, his eyes darting about for an escape or distraction. Sten was stoically sharpening the broadsword that Murdock had given him and ignoring this exchange. Leliana and Ffion hadn't yet arrived and the other soldiers had wisely avoided getting involved.

"And his excuse, other than stupidity, 'tis his fear of witch-thieves," Morrigan snapped back.

The ex-Templar drew himself up as Ser Perth disappeared and Ffion was suddenly there, her grey eyes lit with excitement and her cheeks slightly flushed. Her presence diverted their argument and she glanced between them.

"Is everything ready?" She questioned, "Morrigan, did Ser Perth-"

"He did," The witch interrupted smoothly and glided away.

She moved apart from them and situated herself where her magic would do the least damage to the other fighters. Ffion frowned after her and then glanced at Alistair, who shrugged.

"Don't ask me," He said innocently and couldn't help but start as a horn sounded below them. The soldiers were jumping to attention and his honey colored eyes were lit much like Ffion's, "Besides, it doesn't matter now."

Ffion was hardly listening. Her eyes were on Leliana as she ordered,

"Back with Morrigan. Sten and Alistair, with Ser Perth and his knights."

They immediately did as she said. Leliana pulled the longbow from her back and positioned herself beside the witch. Ffion had left the archery to the Orlesian after seeing some of the impossible targets she was able to hit. Alistair and Sten fell into line with the soldiers and Ffion hurried to bring up part of their rear guard. Tilly was beside her and they all watched in wonder as a pale green smoke rolled along the road leading to the castle. There were calls and shouts from the village below them as the smoke came closer and the soldiers were steeling themselves, readying their weapons. Ser Perth's hand came up and Morrigan's staff was clasped tightly in both fists.

Down the hill in front of them, the smoke crept, and vague figures were visible. When they finally came into view, Ffion took an involuntary step back, not expecting what she saw. Even with Teagan's repeated comments on 'walking dead,' and the stories she overheard from the men and women, none of it had prepared her for the animated skeletons that came shuffling down the road. Some wore tattered clothing and all of them carried weapons, weapons that clearly had been well loved and cared for. This was enough proof that these skeletons had been living, breathing individuals and Ffion felt a twinge of something close to regret that they had to further vandalize the dead. But then Ser Perth's hand fell and Morrigan made the air around them stiflingly hot. A shaft of fire hurled by them and ignited the oil Alistair had found and put to good use. The inferno that followed annihilated the first wave of undead, but those that came after were unfazed.

The soldiers were ready for them, however, and the fight that ensued was just as intense as Morrigan's fire. Sten and Alistair were moving among the men with ease and fighting together as though they had been doing so for years. Ffion and Tilly held back, protecting Leliana and Morrigan from any enemies that came too close. Luckily for them, the undead weren't altogether difficult to cut down, they just didn't stop coming. Which made the desperation the village and its defenders felt all the more understandable. For the better part of a few hours, the waves of undead kept pressing in. There would be short lulls that were just enough for them to catch their breath and then the fighting would continue, sapping at the reserves of their strength.

Ffion was weaving in and out of the undeads' flailing limbs and weapons, her shortswords gleaming in the dying embers of Morrigan's fire, which gave her an idea. She easily lopped off the head of a skeleton making for Leliana, who was absorbed in firing at the enemies attacking the men, and then glanced at the witch.

"We need a storm, Morrigan!" She hollered, ducking underneath the mace that was swung at her.

Morrigan gave a nod and took a stance, raising both hands into the air, her staff held firmly in one. She closed her eyes and slowly began waving both arms in small circles. The air surged with electricity and clouds rolled in around them from nowhere. Morrigan waited until the last moment and then shoved her staff into the air and let loose the lightening storm she had conjured. Bright blue and pale purple exploded all around them, leaping from one skeleton to the next and on up the hill, shattering the enemies as though they were kindling.

The witch dropped her arms, leaning on her staff as exhaustion flickered over her face. The wave of undead had eased once more thanks to her work and she seemed to know this. She nodded her head at Ffion, but fate wouldn't allow them to rest just yet. Even as the others turned to look at Morrigan in speechless amazement, a man came running up the hillside from the village. He was red-faced underneath his helm and his eyes were bugging with fear.

"Help! Someone, help!" He shouted as he approached, "They're attacking the village! We need help!"

"Ser Perth, you and the men hold your post here!" Ffion called, "We need to keep this foothold, don't let them gain it! Alistair, Sten, stay-"

"My place is with you," The Qunari interrupted in a tone that didn't brook any arguments.

Ffion only spared enough time to send him an annoyed look that transferred to Alistair the moment he stepped beside her. The rest of the group followed and though her annoyance deepened, she was touched they weren't willing to leave her. Motioning to all of them, she followed the soldier back down the hillside and over the bridge that spanned the mill's thundering falls. They started down the second incline just above the Chantry and Ffion stopped.

Murdock and his men were fighting fiercely… and losing. Leliana took the initiative. She stepped down the hill further, strung an arrow, and fired. The skeleton beating the mayor back took the arrow to the neck. The force of the shot shattered it and caused those fighting to gape at the little Orlesian who merely dimpled at them and strung another arrow. Morrigan followed suit and soon her familiar blasts of fire and ice were surrounding them. Sten and Alistair charged down the hill and Ffion followed, Tilly barking ferociously as two of the skeletons came up to clash with her lady.

The men below were gaining a second wind with this unexpected help and Murdock was rushing to Ffion's aid as Tilly was knocked from her lady's side. The young Warden was surrounded by four of the skeletons and though her blades were flashing more rapidly than ever, she was losing. One of the undead swung his mace and she didn't duck quick enough; the weapon struck her helm, staggering her into another of the monsters. Murdock charged, lowering his shoulder, and colliding with two of them. They crashed into Ffion and the one she was struggling with, and all of them collapsed into a heap of bones and weapons on the packed dirt of the courtyard. They wrestled a moment, but the impact had been too much for the skeletons and they shattered easily. Murdock hauled Ffion to her feet and clapped her on the shoulder before turning back to the battle. The Warden felt the sharp protest in her ribs again and shoved it away, following the mayor.

This fight was even more intense, the waves had more undead than the others, and the men were already exhausted by the several hours of battling. But Sten was tireless and Alistair, as usual, more chipper than anyone had the right to be; Morrigan's spells made the air around them surge and electrify, and Leliana was a wonder with her bow; all of which kept them going. Ffion and Tilly were bouncing between each group and soon the number of attackers lessened before becoming ones and twos. At this change, Ffion called to Alistair and headed for the docks on the other side of the village. Sten and Tilly bolted after them while Leliana and Morrigan stayed behind to help Murdock with the stragglers.

The four of them cut down the last undead that were lurking about in the dark alleys and ran into the troop of men that were guarding the docks under Teagan's leadership.

"Alistair, Ffion?" The Bann questioned, his brows furrowing over his tired blue eyes, "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing," Alistair answered, "We just left Murdock at the Chantry. The fight was dropping off there and we wanted to catch any that were left behind."

Teagan nodded as he sank his sword tip into the dirt and leaned on the hilt. He motioned behind him to the hulking shadow of the castle.

"It's been the same here," He said, "I don't want to jinx this, but I think we've won tonight, thanks to you."

Ffion gasped and spun around quickly, looking back towards the town and hillside.

"Maker's balls," She muttered sharply and took off, running back the way they had come.

"Ffion?" Alistair shouted and then cursed underneath his breath. He chased after Sten, who hadn't hesitated for a moment and was on Ffion's heels, "What is it?"

Her voice floated back to them as she charged past Murdock's men and was leaping up the trail to the road again,

"Ser Perth!"

The green smoke was thicker at the top of the hill and the men followed in Ffion's wake, throwing themselves without hesitation into the fray Ser Perth's soldiers were battling. This was, by far, the easiest fight that was won and Ffion and Alistair both swung for the last skeleton. Alistair's longblade destroyed the monster and he put his arms out without thinking as Ffion stumbled into him. He steadied her as best he could, taking a few steps back as she collided with his chest.

"Ouch!" She exclaimed as her cheek smacked into the splint mail of his breastplate and she felt his boot across her toes.

He got his balance soon and she felt like she was gripping a wall when he did. They looked at each other in surprise and then weakly started laughing as their exhaustion made them see the humor in the situation. The smoke was disappearing, wafting back to the castle, and the soldiers began cheering.

"We've won!" Teagan's voice exalted and he was clapping Alistair on the shoulder as the ex-Templar let go of Ffion, "We've done it!"

"At least for now," Murdock's grim, deep voice was the voice of reason, "Who's to say this isn't an honest break?"

"I believe it will be," Sten replied as his violet eyes watched the retreat of the smoke, "There isn't anyone to say that fog is just resting."

Ffion sighed, feeling the familiar ache in her arms. She hadn't fought like this since Ostagar and before that, it had been a duel with Gilmore that had left her black and blue for a week. Those were usually after some sort of bet and she was almost always on the receiving end of a terrible defeat. But that last one… It took her a moment to come back to reality and when she did, her voice was anything but steady.

"Rest?" She repeated, "Oh, can we? I feel like I've been wrestling with a bear."

"Murdock counts," Alistair said cheerfully and sent the grim mayor a cheeky grin.

Surprisingly, the man took no offense. Instead he was smiling in some embarrassment at Ffion and he nodded an affirmative.

"He's right," He said, "I'm sorry about that-"

"Don't apologize," Ffion interrupted, holding up one hand, "We were fighting for the same reasons and I can't hold that against you. You saved my life."

Teagan was watching the retreat of the undead speculatively and then glanced at Ffion and Alistair.

"You have more than held up your end of our bargain," He told them, "Go down to the Chantry and get some rest; we'll take care of everything else here."

Ffion hesitated, her grey eyes following the trail of smoke that was steadily disappearing. There were still a few hours before dawn and she could understand Murdock's reluctance to head away from the posts just in case there was another onslaught. The Bann could read her expression easily and was stepping forward, putting one hand to her shoulder, and pushing her back towards the Chantry.

"Go, Ffion," He implored, still wondering why he felt that he knew this girl; now more than ever, "If we need help, I promise, we'll come and get you."

She nodded, letting her exhaustion win over, and led the way back to the courtyard. They entered the Chantry amidst whispers of thanks from those villagers that weren't sleeping fitfully and were approached by a few of the lay sisters and the revered mother.

"Is the fight over then?" The revered mother, Hannah, asked, "What news?"

"The fighting is done for tonight," Ffion answered softly, looking around for a place where she could settle all of them, "The Bann and the others are keeping watch for a little while yet and whatever comes next will be discussed in the morning."

"Please, Warden," Hannah offered, gesturing with one hand, "This way."

They followed the women to the back of the Chantry and through a set of doors, into a long hallway. Hannah skipped down a few doors and then opened one on a room with two tubs of steaming water. She glanced back at Alistair and Sten.

"I took the liberty of preparing these rooms for you," She said, still in the undertone, "You should find everything you need and when you are finished with the baths, that door will lead you to a room where you can find beds and blankets. Let one of the sisters know if you lack anything."

Sten didn't say a word, leaving Alistair to stammer out a grateful thanks. They left the men and continued down to another, more spacious room on the opposite end of the hall. Here were three tubs, each separated by screens, draped with towels and robes.

"Oh, reverence, this is wonderful," Leliana sighed as she trailed her slender fingers through the hot water in one of the tubs.

Even Morrigan's features softened a little and Ffion was the one left thanking Hannah and the sisters.

"If you need assistance, the sisters are more than-"

"No," Ffion interrupted quickly and then flushed at the looks she received, "Thank you, but no. We can manage. You've done quite enough for us."

Morrigan was smirking while Leliana was faintly baffled. Hannah didn't take any offense and simply nodded, backing out of the room with the sisters. Ffion didn't look at either one of the other women, instead heading for the far tub, ducking behind the screen with Tilly.

"Your modesty," Morrigan observed lazily, "'Tis almost… indecent. Do you not agree, Leliana?"

Ffion felt her face flush a deeper red as she pulled the fasteners loose on her leather breastplate. She tugged it off and set it against the screen before continuing with the rest of the armor. She opened her mouth to snap at the witch and then started when the Orlesian's voice sounded, much closer than she expected.

"Don't antagonize her, Morrigan," She defended and Ffion didn't like the amusement in her tone, "I like her modesty. It is very refreshing and… cute."

The leather gauntlets slipped from Ffion's fingers and banged against the screen, making it rock. Leliana was giggling and Ffion's only saving grace was that neither woman could see how brilliantly her face was lit. The Orlesian had always made her rather uncomfortable, and was all too eager to touch or pet her, like she was some sort of living doll. She wasn't a fool and she could clearly see that Leliana admired her; she just wasn't sure _why_. And she sure as hell didn't want to find out firsthand.

"This has gone on long enough," She said sharply as she successfully stripped down and stepped into the bath, "How about we just get cleaned up and get some rest, yeah?"

"Are you quite sure you do not need a helping hand?" Morrigan's voice was lilting, mimicking the Orlesian's, and the mockery was anything but pleasant. She was aiming to embarrass Ffion and doing a fine job, knowing exactly which buttons to press and amusing Leliana as she did so, "Surely Alistair would-"

"You wouldn't prefer Sten?" Leliana interrupted and successfully silenced the witch.

Ffion would have thanked her, but she wasn't willing to draw any more attention to herself. She eased back in the tub, amused by Morrigan's silence, and let her hand dance across Tilly's head.

"Indeed I would," The witch's soft answer made Ffion's cheeks burn again. These conversations made her feel uncomfortable and she knew that's why these two were doing it, "Is there a possibility he thinks of me now, while he is bathing? I certainly-"

Ffion didn't hear the rest of that comment. She took a deep breath and dunked herself completely, positive she would never turn back to her proper color if she didn't escape somehow.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **My brother and I were discussing Sten yesterday. He doesn't like him since Sten **always** hates him, but I think that Sten has absolutely loved me every time I've played the game. So if he seems out of character to any of you, I'm sorry. He (and Zevran) are a little hard to grasp at times. Anyway, take care and enjoy!**  
**

* * *

The next morning dawned bright and beautiful. It was difficult to believe that they had spent several hours the night before fighting to save the village. Birds had returned to the tree-tops and were singing happily, their voices echoing over the water and floating in the breeze. There seemed to be a certain kind of magic in those songs and the townsfolk were cheerier than they had been in days.

Ffion was the first one up and about from her group and she managed to snag a cup of coffee and escape to the wide porch of the Chantry. She moved over to a pillar that was out of the way and sat on the stone slab, leaning against the carved wood, with Tilly beside her. She tipped her head back and enjoyed the sunlight as it warmed her face. She was still tired and very sore, her arms and legs covered in bruises from Murdock's tackle and those hits that the undead had landed. Her bath hadn't been nearly as long as she liked because she had hated being cornered by Morrigan and Leliana. She took a sip of the coffee and stroked Tilly's ears as the dog rested her head on her thigh. Footsteps sounded behind her and a deep voice was saying,

"I'd like a word with you, Warden."

She glanced up and behind her to meet Sten's serious gaze. He was empty handed, but, like her, had already fastened his armor in place, the broadsword slung across his back. He stood, waiting for her answer, and didn't move around to stand in front of her until after she motioned for him to do so.

"I wished to commend you for your bravery and determination last night," He said abruptly, "You are a… surprise to me. You're not what I thought you were."

Ffion was baffled. She took another sip of coffee and then allowed her tongue to rule the conversation.

"Do I want to know what you thought I was?" She asked and her grey eyes sparked, the desire to tease him too great to pass up, "Or is this just your way of flirting with me, Sten?"

Sten was glowering at her, though he pressed on with his original intent.

"Are you trying to prove me wrong, again?"

"No, I'm sorry, I couldn't help it. You looked so serious and I just wanted to try and make you smile for once," She smoothed her face and added, "What _did_ you think I was?"

"I told you when we met that you were impertinent," He answered matter-of-factly, "I soon realized that you are simply inexperienced and doing your best, which is impressive for one so young. I thought then that you were naïve. That is, I believed this until Alistair began talking more than any person has a need to and earning that title for himself. And last night, you were tireless and as stubborn as any of the fighters of the Beresaad, I didn't expect that."

This was the longest speech yet that Ffion had heard from the usually impassive Sten. She blinked in confusion, but felt her lips tip up in a small smile as she met his gaze.

"I'm sure that was meant to compliment me, Sten, and I thank you for it. But I have to prove my inexperience again: what is the Beresaad? You've mentioned it so many times and I've never had a good opportunity to ask you about it."

The Qunari was almost returning the smile and his stare was less intimidating than usual. He leaned against the pillar in front of her and appeared relaxed for one of the first times since she met him.

"The Beresaad is the vanguard of the Qunari people," He explained, "I was sent here to investigate the Blight."

"The Blight?" Ffion repeated, "Then our paths are the same. I guess it's a good thing I'm not what you thought I was."

"It is," His voice was cool again, "You have yet to change my mind completely. Don't get lax, Warden."

Ffion was really smiling now, one cheek dimpling and grey eyes lighting up even more. She wasn't sure if he really meant that and she was leaning towards the slim chance he didn't.

"And run the risk of disappointing you, Sten?" She said with mock horror, "Never."

This time his smile warmed his eyes a little and he gave her a solemn nod. At least she was gaining ground with him; she just wasn't sure she wanted to find out how big the sacrifice would be in winning his trust completely.

More footsteps rang behind them and Leliana's lilting voice was wishing them a cheerful 'good morning.' Morrigan and Alistair were trailing behind and the witch tipped her head in Ffion's direction before sending Sten a smirk.

"You look well this morning," Leliana was observing, tugging on Ffion's long, thick braid. She added quietly, her blue eyes dancing with amusement, "Back to your proper color, I see. I'm sorry about last night, Ffion, I was just so happy we helped these poor people and I felt like laughing. I wish you hadn't born the brunt of it."

Ffion tipped herself so she could glance up at the Orlesian. She felt the prickles of unease again, but didn't let that stop her from accepting the apology.

"It's fine, Leliana," She answered with a smile, "We all needed some sort of release."

"Is this a story I should hear?" Alistair questioned and seemed caught in that same need for amusement that the Orlesian was.

Silently cursing how quickly her cheeks flushed, Ffion got to her feet and took another sip of coffee in a vain attempt to cover her embarrassment.

"No," Her voice was short and she was trying to ignore Morrigan's soft chuckle. She added hesitantly, knowing it would sound more like Oriana than herself, "Just… girl talk."

The ex-Templar looked faintly disappointed, but his honey colored eyes were direct. He lifted his shoulders and spoke to Ffion,

"None of my business then. Teagan's waiting for us up at the crossroad by the mill whenever you're ready."

"Then let's go," She said, "As long as everyone else is ready?"

They all nodded and Ffion finished the last of her coffee and left the cup perched on the edge of the porch. They trekked back up the road and found Teagan standing at the edge of the platform by the mill with Ser Perth. The sails were spinning lazily and the _whoosh_ in the air was rather soothing. The castle was more picturesque than ever in the morning sunlight, but without the soldiers on the parapets and having fought for their lives the night before, it was an eerie beauty. Save the birdsong from the trees, the air was still and rather heavy and Teagan didn't turn as they approached from behind. Ser Perth bowed to Ffion and moved away, giving them privacy.

"It's so strange to see this place so quiet," Teagan commented, knowing it was them without turning, "I've never seen it like this."

"So what happens now?" Alistair asked.

The Bann faced them and he appeared more his age now: his blue eyes were determined, but uneasy, and his jaw was set stubbornly. Ffion was surprised to realize he wasn't much older than Alistair and herself. Last night, his talk of duty and honor had made him seem much older.

"I'm going into the castle," He said and was speaking rapidly, not giving them a chance to interrupt him, "Someone has to… _I_ have to. Eamon's my brother and I need to know his fate."

Ffion was frowning and she crossed her arms over her chest. Her grey eyes didn't leave Teagan's blue and she motioned to the castle behind him.

"But how?" She questioned, "You said so yourself: we can't get in."

The Bann was suddenly self-conscious. He glanced between all of them and then dismissed the others and fixed his attention on Alistair and Ffion again.

"There is a way to get in," He confessed slowly, "I am a Guerrin and this castle is my home. There is a secret passage leading from this mill into the dungeons; a passage known only to the Guerrin family. I didn't tell you this yesterday because… we needed help and you wouldn't have stuck around to assist us if you had known. And, of course, you might not have survived the trip into the castle, not with the onslaught we faced last night."

"And you believe you will survive now? Are you mad?" Morrigan questioned.

"The attacks come only at night," Teagan answered and looked on the verge of pacing, "That must have some meaning and I don't think - Maker, Isolde!"

There were hurried footsteps behind them and Teagan's face was lit up by shocked happiness. The others turned to see a very pretty blonde woman running down the road followed by a lone soldier. She was finely dressed and though her once immaculate bun was beginning to unravel, she held herself in a way that proclaimed noble blood and a privileged upbringing. At first, it looked like she was going to leap into Teagan's arms, but she brought herself up short and instead grasped his hands firmly in hers.

"Thank the Maker," She murmured, her face flushed with the exertion of running from the castle and her breathing rapid. Her Orlesian accent was thicker than Leliana's and her brown eyes drank in Teagan's appearance as though she never thought she'd see him again, "I had feared the worst and to see you alive… Oh, Teagan, this has been awful."

"Isolde, please, what's going on?" Teagan asked, "We thought everyone in the castle was… well, we haven't been sure what to think."

The soldier with Isolde was standing a little apart and he seemed to be giving them privacy much as Ser Perth was. The woman was close to tears and she still ignored the others with the Bann.

"You are right, in part," She answered, "Most of those that lived in the castle are… dead, yes. When they come alive each night, they only focus on the village. They have not turned their attention to those of us still living."

"So you and Eamon-"

"There has been no change in my husband," Isolde's voice was close to breaking and she gripped Teagan's hands even harder, "This… evil force that controls the dead… it isn't giving me much time. It allowed me to leave because I begged, because I had to come and try to speak with you, but I must go back and I… I want you to come with me, Teagan, please. This evil is weakening everyone and I'm afraid that… that it is driving Conner… mad. Please, Teagan, you must come with me. You are Conner's uncle and we need you."

Ffion's frown had deepened and she was stepping forward. She glanced between the two and cut into the conversation without waiting for an invitation.

"We're going to need more of an explanation than that, I think," She said with all the authority that she could muster.

Isolde pulled away from Teagan abruptly, startled by the sound of Ffion's voice. Her brown eyes flashed to the younger woman and her full lips parted in surprised insult.

"Teagan, who is this woman and the others?" Her voice was sharp and cold.

Alistair sighed and seemed quite used to the Arlessa's superiority. He met her gaze and stepped in before Ffion got her head snapped off.

"You remember me, don't you, Lady Isolde?"

She shifted her attention reluctantly to the ex-Templar and studied him before her expression cooled even more. She was truly confused now and she glanced at Teagan before answering,

"Alistair? Of all the people to… what are _you_ doing here?"

"He's a Grey Warden, Isolde," Teagan was not the warm and amiable Bann. He didn't like Isolde's attitude and wasn't bothering to hide it from her, "And without him and these good people, we wouldn't have survived the night. But I have to agree with Ffion. We need more of an explanation. Like I said, we had no idea anyone was still alive in there."

The Arlessa paced away from them and then turned, her expression desperate. She looked on the verge of breaking down and her brown eyes were flooded with tears.

"There isn't much more to tell," She said softly, "Eamon's health has not improved while Conner is ailing. This is becoming too much for all of us and I don't have time to explain anymore. Whatever has been driving this was not content to let me leave and will not rest if I don't come back. Please, Teagan, we need you!"

That last bit was added as such a pathetic plea that Ffion was tempted to tell Teagan to just go. But something about the situation seemed off to her and she wasn't sure she liked him going alone.

"Teagan-" Alistair began.

"Okay, Isolde," The Bann interrupted and didn't look away from his sister-in-law, "I'll come with you, but give us a moment here, please."

She inhaled quickly, rushing to wring his hand again and smile tremulously at him.

"Thank you, oh, thank you," She breathed, "I will wait for you by the bridge. Do not keep us too long."

They disappeared just as quickly as they had shown up and Teagan didn't waste any of his precious time. He turned and addressed Ffion, speaking rapidly and giving the impression that his thoughts were working even faster.

"I will accompany Isolde and try to distract whatever this power is that she's so terrified of," He said as he worked something from his pinky finger. Stepping closer, he pressed it into Ffion's palm, "Take my signet ring. It will open a trap door in the mill. When you reach the courtyard, open the main gate. Ser Perth and his men will be waiting and they can give you whatever aid you might need. If anything goes wrong, get Eamon out of the castle. Myself, whatever soldiers have been left alive, Isolde… even Conner, are all expendable. My brother is the priority."

Ffion's lips parted to argue with him, but his blue eyes were stern and he didn't give the impression that he willing to put up with anything from her. She met his gaze and closed her fist around the ring.

"I understand," She replied slowly, "But I will try to save whoever I can, if it's at all possible."

Teagan smiled a little, a smile that was too grim to be pleasant, and gave her a bow.

"Don't get too wrapped up in useless desires to play the hero," He admonished, too touched to scold her firmly, "But I appreciate the sentiment. You're a good woman, Ffion, one I'll never forget. Good luck and Maker watch over you."

The Bann disappeared and Ffion was turning to the others with arched brows, the signet ring pressed between her thumb and forefinger.

"Do you need anything from the Chantry?" She asked the group as a whole and didn't allow her tinted cheeks to get the better of her. When they glanced at each other and then back at her negatively, she motioned to the mill, "Then let's go."

She led the way to the mill door. Ser Perth was standing to one side and she paused to speak with him.

"Be waiting at the gate, Ser Perth. As soon as we reach the courtyard, we'll open it. We'll need your help."

He nodded and then repeated Teagan's sentiment,

"Maker watch over you; over us all."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Happy Independence Day, everyone! I'm planning on enjoying our very, very late sunshine, the family and fireworks, and probably too many gin and tonics :-D Enjoy and take care, catalina

* * *

The interior of the mill was dark and cool, the swishing sound of the sails even louder. It was cramped and, stacked against every wall, there were thick cloth bags full of grain that had been ground in previous seasons. The one end of the hall dead-ended, while the other was stacked with more bags. Ffion began shifting them, hoping that this wasn't a wild-goose chase.

"Morrigan, the floor on the other side doesn't sound hollow, does it?" She asked as one of her shoulders bumped into Sten, who had stepped forward to help.

The witch moved away and one end of her staff tapped against the floor as she went. There was no change in the sound and she turned back to them, lifting her shoulders.

"No, 'tis not here."

Ffion nodded, figuring as much. Sten was hoisting up two more of the bags and a woven mat was covering the floorboards underneath them. In the middle of the rug was a small rise that seemed out of place. She waited until the Qunari was clear and then flipped the rug over itself. There, fitting so tight it was nearly invisible, was a trapdoor. The rise was caused by the covering for the lock that hadn't been pushed into place. She crouched and pried it up all the way before turning the signet ring around to match the pattern she had uncovered. The ring fit seamlessly and it spun with the merest flick of her wrist.

"Clever," Alistair's voice observed from behind her as the door popped up a little, "Let's just hope everyone can fit."

"It'll be fine," Ffion replied, but felt a prick of doubt. Once the door opened, she saw how narrow the squeeze would be down the ladder into darkness, "I'll go first. Morrigan, can we have some light?"

"Indeed," The witch's voice was cool, "Shall I simply burn the mill down or is it the secret passage you wish to ignite?"

There was a shuffling and then a small crash before Leliana appeared at Morrigan's elbow, dimpling and holding a torch in one hand.

"How about neither?" She answered and touched the tip of the torch to Morrigan's palm as the witch conjured a ball of fire, "You see, Morrigan? No need for venom."

The witch looked as though she wanted to light Leliana on fire, but Ffion was accepting the torch and dropping from view. The ladder was much shorter than she thought it would be and her feet landed solidly on damp stone slabs after just eight steps. Darkness enveloped her and the torch flickered in the wet air. She hunted for a place to hang it, but the walls were bare and she went back to the trapdoor.

"It's all clear," She called up and stood out of the way as Alistair's legs swung down.

The ex-Templar dropped beside her and his eyes glinted a deeper brown in the poor light.

"It's a tight fit, Sten," He warned and studied the opening as the Qunari's feet appeared.

Sten took it easy and kept his arms up until he was sure his shoulders would squeeze through. There was only a brief moment when his armor caught and then he was standing beside Alistair, straightening the pauldrons calmly, as though nothing had happened. Morrigan was next and Tilly began whining, sticking her nose down and hunting for her lady, her brown eyes worried.

"She's in my way, Ffion," Leliana said, "Should I help her down?"

Ffion returned to the ladder, peering up at her dog who wasn't about to let her lady go on without her.

"No," She replied, "She can make it on her own. At home she used to go down… It's fine, Leliana. Come on, Tilly, come with me."

The dog needed no further encouragement. She placed her front feet on the top step and jumped, landing with a solid _thud_ on the stone. Leliana followed and Ffion led the way down the tunnel. It took them underneath a portion of the lake and, like Teagan promised, it opened up again inside the castle's dungeons. Ffion lifted this door gingerly, just enough to see what they were going up against. The coast was clear and she pushed it up all the way. She could hear a distant clang of metal on metal and waved for silence over her shoulder when Alistair murmured her name.

She lifted herself up after handing the torch over to the ex-Templar. The tunnel had led them to a corner room of the dungeon and there was just a bare gleam of light coming through the arched windows well over her head. She eased to the doorway ahead, made sure that there wouldn't be any surprises, and then went back to the hidden tunnel.

Alistair handed the torch back and hoisted up to join her. Leliana and Morrigan followed and, before Ffion could even ask, Sten had lifted Tilly up to the floor. The Mabari seemed as surprised by this as her owner and she promptly turned to lick the Qunari's cheek when he came up the ladder. Ffion had a hard time stifling the giggle that threatened to burst from her and she put her back to Sten and headed to the doorway again. The others followed and there, at the end of the long, narrow hallway, was the source of the noise. Two of the undead were focused solely on gaining entry to a cell and didn't hear Ffion's band. Leliana's bow was in her hand in seconds and she once again knocked the head completely from one of the monsters. The other charged down the hallway, forgetting whatever it was that was in the cell. Leliana hardly blinked as she fired again and the undead was cut down.

They waited for a minute to make sure that there weren't any other undead and moved on. Before they reached the cell that the monsters were so taken with, a voice called out hesitantly,

"Who's there? If it's the guard… just kill me… get it over with."

They stopped in front of the iron door and looked in on a young, black haired man with shadowed hazel eyes. He couldn't have been much older than Ffion, but with the haunted expression on his face, the torn and dirty Circle mage robes, and the beginning signs of desperate hunger, he looked ten years older. He straightened from the corner he had crammed into and eyed them with a sort of resigned acceptance until the light flickered off their armor and he frowned in confusion.

"You're not any of the Arlessa's men," He observed, "How did you get in here?"

"I might ask you the same thing," Ffion answered, handing the torch to Leliana, "We were told most of the castle's inhabitants were dead. Who are you?"

He came a little closer to the door and let the light fall across him more fully. His eyes were even more shadowed and the effects of poor sleep and terror were very evident.

"My name is Jowan," He began, "The Arlessa hired me to tutor her son, Conner."

"Tutor?" Alistair repeated, "Why would the Arlessa hire a mage to tutor Conner? Unless-"

"He had started to show… signs," Jowan was hesitant again and he eyed them before he added, "You talk like you know the family. Who did you say you were?"

Sten shifted impatiently behind them and Ffion could tell what he was about to say before he opened his mouth. She wasn't willing to give him the chance, though, and answered first,

"Bann Teagan asked for our help. Alistair and I are Grey Wardens and these are our companions: Morrigan, Sten, and Leliana. We fought with the soldiers last night in defending the village and Teagan didn't want to go on without us," She gave him an appraising sort of look, "The only reason the Arlessa would hire a mage to come personally to the castle would be because she wouldn't want someone else to find out about her son. The Arl, maybe? Which is ridiculous, even the thickest person would find out sooner or later that their child was capable of casting spells."

Jowan was abashed for all his previous dignity in asking them about their motives. His hazel eyes slipped from Ffion's direct gaze and he absentmindedly rubbed some of the grime from the sleeve of his robe.

"The Arl was to be kept in the dark for as long as his wife could manage," He confessed hesitantly, "And then… oh, what's the use hiding it anymore!… I poisoned the Arl and that's the reason he's sick."

Alistair was furious.

"You _what?_" He shouted.

Ffion was just about to turn and clap her hand over his mouth when Morrigan's soft murmur silenced him just as effectively.

"Intriguing," The witch remarked and her gold eyes were gleaming, "This obsession with self-preservation 'tis most interesting, do you not agree, Alistair?"

Alistair was about to burst and Ffion smoothly stepped in. Her arms folded across her chest and she caught the flash of intense self-loathing Jowan wasn't quick enough to conceal.

"Tell me the truth," She started bluntly, "Was this something you were bribed into doing or did you think of it yourself?"

The mage paced restlessly in the cramped cell and this time his expression was rather tortured.

"Loghain got to me first," He said and his words were coming out in a rush, like he was afraid he was going to lose his nerve, "He told me that the Wardens were responsible for the King's death and since the Arl had defended the Order, he was just as guilty. He explained it in such a way that it… it seemed to make sense. He made promises to me, too. He said that if I were to do this for him, he would straighten things out for me with the Circle. I agreed mostly because I had no where else to turn. So when Loghain found out that the Arlessa was looking for a mage that would be willing to come and tutor Conner, he sent me here."

"Loghain! That filthy bas-"

"Be willing?" Ffion repeated, cutting off Alistair's angry words and frowning at Jowan, "What do you mean? And why did Loghain promise to sort out things with the Circle?"

He looked around helplessly and lifted his shoulders.

"It's kind of a long story," He answered.

This time it was Leliana that spoke, her lilting voice filled with dry humor.

"Do you have a pressing appointment elsewhere?"

That worked to break the tension and Jowan leaned forward, resting his forearms on the metal gate and meeting Ffion's gaze again.

"I'm an apostate, a _wanted_ apostate, and that's what the Arlessa needed. She was looking for someone that had a vested interest in his own safety and well-being and I was the perfect candidate," He began, his voice sounding tired and young, "I escaped from the Circle just a week and a half before the battle at Ostagar. I shattered my phylactery and was caught by the First Enchanter, Knight-Commander, and a hand-full of Templars while trying to sneak out. It wouldn't have mattered so much had it just been me, but I had involved my best friend and an initiate that I'd fallen in love with. My friend had just gone through her Harrowing and when we were caught, the First Enchanter immediately stepped in for her. She had always been something of his pet pupil, so I had no worries about her fate, but the initiate… Lily… she wasn't so lucky. She was taken to Aeonar, as far as I know," He hesitated, his eyes going briefly to Alistair and then away again and Ffion had a feeling that was she was going to be very glad that Leliana had replaced her Chantry robes with leather armor. Having two people here that had been immersed in the Chantry practices guaranteed their hostility to whatever stories this mage would tell, "This was all brought about because Lily had heard that I was going to be made Tranquil. That meant I would have been stripped of my magic and consequently all feelings and emotions. I would have been an empty husk."

"As all mages should be," Sten commented as Jowan stopped once more.

This comment was ignored by everyone for the most part, though Morrigan sent the Qunari a bemused look.

"But why do that to you?" Leliana questioned and her gaze was just as suspicious as Alistair's was, "Had you done something to provoke such measures?"

"I was accused of blood magic," Jowan was explaining carefully and had eyes only for Ffion, "And Lily told me that the Templars had substantiated proof of this. I wasn't about to sit idly by and let them take away my love for her, the friendship I had with Solona, the pleasure I got from life itself, and so I acted. Loghain caught me at a desperate time and he promised to make all of this go away. Instead, I find myself deeper in trouble and going through a personal hell."

"And you think that redeems you?" Alistair demanded, his honey colored eyes still flaming, "How does any of this change what you did to the Arl? Or change what this mess has done to Redcliffe? Were you even-"

"If you mean the monsters, I had nothing to do with that," Jowan was more spirited in the face of this new accusation, "Whatever's plaguing the castle and village happened after I was locked up. They found out that I had poisoned the Arl and threw me down here two days before the attacks started. The Arlessa came herself after the first attack and demanded that I undo whatever I had done. I thought she meant the Arl's sickness and she didn't believe me when I told her I knew nothing of the undead. She… she even had me tortured. But I can't fix a problem I know nothing about and I told her as much. She hasn't been back since and I was hoping those monsters would get in and end this when I heard your footsteps," His expression was helpless again, "I was stupid and selfish. I should never have run away in the first place and I was looking for someone else to solve my problems. Problems that no one else _can_ solve. I know it's probably ridiculous for me to ask, but would you consider letting me out? I won't be running away again. I'll follow you and try to help reach the Arlessa. I have to do something in order to set this mess right and I will either find my retribution or allow those I've wronged to have their justice. Please, Warden?"

"We're not actually-"

Ffion held up one hand to stop Alistair from continuing.

"We're allowing Sten to search for his retribution. Why is this so different?" She asked softly to the group as a whole.

"Different?" The ex-Templar repeated, incredulous, "Ffion, this man has been accused of blood magic and who's to say he didn't escape from the Circle using it? Besides, Sten's not an apostate mage."

"No, he just committed a crime that got him locked in a cage to wait for the flood of Darkspawn that were going to be over-running Lothering within days," Ffion's voice was biting in its sarcasm, "There's no way that whatever he did was worse than blood magic with that type of punishment."

Alistair blinked at her but bounced right back.

"You are considering this," He half groaned the comment and closed his eyes a little too dramatically, "Morrigan's right, your mercy is going to get us killed."

The witch was surveying this argument with amusement and took the moment to add quite calmly,

"I agree with her this time. This mage was doing what he had to in order to win his freedom. Allow him to have it, I say."

This time Alistair tossed his hands up in defeat. He scowled, but wasn't about to oppose the whole group. Leliana was close to giggling over the situation, Morrigan and Ffion were allied against him, and Sten was remaining detached and aloof. There was no way he'd win that fight.

"I'll never understand women," He muttered.

"Why would you need to?" Morrigan questioned with assumed innocence, "'Tis not as if-"

"Enough," Ffion said with a sigh. She met Jowan's gaze apologetically, but her voice was stern, "If I let you out and you try anything but what you've promised, we won't hesitate in cutting you down."

"I'm a dead man either way, I think," He replied.

Ffion looked around the hallway and studied the two undead that Leliana had taken down with her bow. She glanced back up at the mage.

"Do you know where the key is?"

Jowan's face fell just as it had lit up and his eyes flickered about much as Ffion's had done.

"No, damn," He muttered, "I didn't even think about… I really thought that I'd get the chance to-"

"We don't need a key I think," Ffion crouched in front of the iron door, studying the lock. She was pulling at one of the pins in her braid that was keeping stray strands of hair from tickling her neck. She proceeded to pick the old lock and talk in a distracted sort of way, "These old gates are usually pretty easy to…" There was a slight _click_ that surprised even her and the door swung open a little, "Easy to pick."

She got to her feet, sending Alistair and Sten annoyed looks as they both stepped back and steeled themselves. The mage stepped from the cell with a relieved, but resigned expression. He was smaller than Ffion originally thought, not much taller than Morrigan and his face was more deeply etched with exhaustion and fear as Leliana's torch played across it.

"I'll follow your lead," He said and dutifully ignored Alistair and Sten's animosity.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** On time again, yah! Thanks for reading and sticking with me, guys. Enjoy!

* * *

Ffion didn't waste any time. She turned and headed up the passage again, into another section of the dungeons. Here, the doors had been removed and the small, domed rooms were used for storage rather than prisoners. They had crossed through and Ffion had one foot on the bottom step leading to the upper floors of the castle when there was a dry hiss and scrape. Sten shouted a warning and the others were turning to see four of the undead shuffling towards them. Leliana fired at one and Ffion's knife was flung right at the neck of another. Alistair and the Qunari charged forward and Jowan moved faster than Morrigan could. He extended his arms, his hands cupping the air and making the atmosphere around them suddenly chill. A moment later and everyone's breath was visible before he released the spell, freezing the undead. Sten shattered one with a swing of the broadsword and Alistair took care of the other. Morrigan ignited the one that Ffion's quick knife toss had merely slowed down. As soon as the monsters were gone, they headed up the stairs.

Alistair took over and proceeded to lead the way down the hall, ditching the torch now that the walls were lined with them, and skirting a pretty little chapel that the other rooms were centered around. They ran into more undead that seemed weakened by the daylight and the ex-Templar knew the castle like the back of his hand. Without much trouble, they came into a long hallway that led to the kitchens and as they proceeded that way, Sten stopped them. His head was cocked to one side and his strange violet eyes met Ffion's.

"I hear something," He said softly, "It almost sounds like someone is hiding in one of those rooms."

Ffion didn't hesitate in starting for the three doors beyond the kitchen. While the first two turned up nothing, the third stuck fast when she tried to open it. She could hear a terrified sort of moan behind the door and she waved for silence from the others. Softening her voice and once more trying her mother's trick of coercion, she called calmly,

"Is there someone there? Please, I was sent here by Bann Teagan and I'm trying to help. Won't you open the door?"

"H-how do I know I-I can trust y-you?" A young girl's voice answered.

"Is your name Valena?" Ffion was taking a leap here and she was rewarded by a quick intake of breath and the sudden, harsh scrape of something shoved from the door.

It was flung open and a pretty little blonde was standing before them. Her green eyes were desperate as they looked over each person in Ffion's party and then landed on the young Warden.

"You've spoken with my father," She wasn't asking and her eyes were swimming with tears, "Where is he? Is he well?"

"He's back in the village, child," Leliana said soothingly, "And he has been frantic about you."

She set her chin stubbornly and straightened her shoulders. Ffion felt a little stab of grief. Valena wasn't much older than 17 and Ffion was reminded sharply of herself at that age. This girl's determination called to mind exploits with Gilmore and the times she had butted heads with her parents over stupid trifles that had seemed so important to her... She had to forcibly shove it to the back of her head with everything else before smiling at the girl.

"I promised him that I would look for you if I got the chance to get into the castle and here I am," She told her, "But I don't think-"

"I'm not staying here another minute!" Valena exclaimed, "I can't! Not after the past nights! There must be a way out, you got in, didn't you? How?"

"Please, girl, that isn't the best-"

Jowan's protest was ignored and Ffion had interrupted him anyway.

"There's a secret passage back through the dungeons," She answered and had to put one hand on Valena's shoulder to prevent her from bolting, "Valena, it will be dangerous, probably more dangerous than staying here. But if you're sure you want to do this, we won't stop you."

The girl hesitated, her green eyes flickering with uncertainty for the first time since they found her.

"The Arlessa… she'll want to know what happened to me," She began slowly, "I'm her maid and she usually can't-"

"'Tis the least of her worries," Morrigan was the one to interrupt this time and her voice was devoid of the usual snark. Her gold eyes were watching Ffion speculatively and the knowing smirk on her lips was anything but reassuring, "Run, girl, your father misses you. 'Twill be the least of your own concerns to run across any of the monsters. I believe you will be quite safe."

Valena didn't wait a second longer. She gave the witch a nod and disappeared down the hall, running more quickly than anyone thought possible. Sten went back to the kitchen and the others trailed him. There was a little resistance, but it was no match for them and soon they found themselves in a cellar area with more steps again leading up. Ffion spared a quick glance at Alistair.

"This will take us to the courtyard," He said, answering her unasked question.

"Alright," She replied and was speaking herself more than him, "As soon as we're up there, I'll open the gate and let Perth's men in. Just attack whatever's there, don't worry about me. Teagan's right, Arl Eamon is our priority."

"Ffion, I'm sure it won't-"

"Don't argue with me, Alistair, please," She was speaking quietly now, "We're doing what we have to and this is part of the whole. Let's get it over with."

She didn't wait for his argument, instead she darted up the stairs and the others followed The door to the courtyard was barred from the inside, but Sten made quick work of the heavy oak beam that was barricading it. Ffion shoved the door open and was sprinting across the courtyard before she even glanced at what they were up against. She could hear the distinctive _twang_ of Leliana's bow and Sten shouting war-cries in his native tongue. Underneath everything were the hisses of the undead and she only spared a glance after she had reached the portcullis. Stairs led up to the main door of the castle and archers were lining the top of the wall there, while a dozen more of the undead were circling around the rest of Ffion's party. Morrigan and Jowan were making the air crackle and burn with magic and Tilly's barks were especially ferocious as she defended her lady. Ffion managed to raise the portcullis and Ser Perth and his men were running to help them.

"Watch out for the revenant!" Alistair's voice was shouting above all the others'.

Ffion turned without thinking and flung her knife at a towering figure that was bearing down on Sten. She didn't watch to see if it was taken down or not as there were more of the undead coming up against her and she was distracted. Her blades were spinning closer to one of the skeletons when suddenly she felt a tremendous jerk about her waist. She was pulled forward several yards and staggered to the ground when the pressure disappeared.

The menacing figure she had thrown the knife at was hulking above her, its spiked helm glinting in the sunlight and the red eyes burning with hate. Terror flooded through her and she rolled across the dirt as the creature's sword swung down at her. She sprang to her feet and threw her blades up just in time to ward off the next blow. The revenant was much stronger than she was and it would have towered over Sten, but Ffion was quicker. She darted closer, taking sharp jabs at it when she had the advantage. A rush of icy air blew the strands of hair that had been loosed from her braid and the Warden was relieved that she was no longer fighting this thing on her own. Jowan blasted it with another frost spell and though it didn't freeze the creature, it slowed its swings to the point that Ffion was able to breathe easier. Sten was suddenly helping her as well and soon the revenant was surrounded by the three of them with Tilly dodging in and out, nipping at whatever seemed the most vulnerable.

"Ffion, duck!" Sten hollered.

She needed no further encouragement. The Warden darted out of the way and Sten hurled himself forward, his blade singing through the air, and cut the head entirely from the monster. Ffion didn't wait around to watch as the revenant thudded to the ground. She was taking the steps two at a time and Alistair was on her heels. They ran down opposite ends of the wall, cutting down the archers as they went while Morrigan, Jowan, and Leliana aided them from below with magic and arrows.

Alistair killed the ones he was up against before Ffion could finish hers off and he was running back to help her destroy the last two. As soon as they were gone, he leaned on the hilt of his sword, looking alarmingly like Teagan. He smiled the lopsided smile at her and Ffion wondered why her face felt hot.

"Good job," He congratulated, "We make a good team."

"We do," She agreed and added quietly as the others came up the stairs and started towards them, "We'll finish this, Alistair, the Wardens will be rebuilt."

He had time to give her a quick nod, his eyes flickering with respect, and then Leliana's voice was saying,

"Ser Perth says the door will be unlocked. He will remain out here and keep watch for us."

"Good," Alistair answered, "It will probably work better for us this way and they will be able hear if any fighting breaks out in the castle. Let's go."

Ffion didn't mind this switch of leadership at all and she gladly fell into step behind him as he led the way to the big front doors. Ser Perth was coming up the stairs and he nodded to them.

"Good luck, sers," He said, "And I thank you for your help."

Sten helped Alistair shove the doors open and they left them ajar as the entered the dim, cool front hall. Faintly, they could hear sporadic clapping in the next room and the absence of soldiers guarding the door was unnerving. There was no sign of Teagan or any of the undead that had been prolific outside and this only succeeded in setting them even more on edge.

Alistair was still leading them and Ffion had moved up to fall in beside him. They entered the next room together and had only taken a few steps in when they both stopped short. The others were just behind them and all of them stared at the bizarre scene they had walked into.

Isolde was standing on a dais, in front of a blazing fireplace, her expression dazed and haunted. There were eight soldiers forming a half-circle behind her and, doing somersaults across rug like he was five years old, was Teagan. Gone was the nobility that marked every interaction they had had with him, gone was the proud Guerrin blood, instead he was making a fool of himself. And it seemed it was all for a boy of about ten who was the source of the clapping they had heard.

Ffion's heart constricted painfully and she let out an audible gasp. She could feel the others' curious gazes and she thought quickly, putting one hand to her ribs, feigning an ache in her side. She had drawn the boy's gaze, too: Conner, she knew now, and he put up one hand. Teagan immediately stopped cavorting on the rug and plopped down on the dais next to his nephew. This made it clear to see that the Bann was under some sort of enchantment, but Ffion's eyes hadn't left Conner's. The boy could easily be mistaken for her own nephew, had Oren lived to see ten years old, and the resemblance was almost too much for her. His hair had the same reddish tint and his eyes were a dark green, just shades darker than Oren's. Even the face shape was the same: the pointed chin and prominent cheekbones, a straight nose and wide-set eyes with dark brows slanting over them. Oren would have rivaled his father in looks as he grew and Conner was obviously growing into a very good looking little boy.

"What are these, Mother? I don't remember telling you you could bring any other guests. We agreed on Uncle and that was it," The boy's voice was far too deep for his age and they could tell these were not his own words. His green eyes were burning with a hatred that was entirely out of place and it was clear something was horribly wrong, "What is the one in front? I can't see it very well at all."

Isolde sent them a desperate, pleading look before carefully answering her son's question. Ffion had stepped a little forward of Alistair and she was surprised to hear the Arlessa speaking of her. She had been so wrapped up in studying Conner that she hadn't realized what was going on.

"This is a woman, Conner," Isolde was saying slowly, cautiously. She was unraveling fast. When they had seen her earlier, she was still in some command of her emotions and now she was close to her breaking point, "You know what women are, beloved, it is what I am."

"No," The boy responded promptly, "You're hardly anything like her. She's much younger and prettier than you are. Maybe I should replace you with her."

Though the Arlessa ignored this, her eyes flooded with tears.

"Oh, Conner, please," She whispered brokenly, never looking away from him. She was on the verge of throwing her arms around him, but satisfied herself by convulsively clenching and opening her hands, "Please."

"Doesn't that make you angry, Mother?" He asked, ignoring her plea and grinning in a nasty sort of way, "Doesn't that make you want to hurt her? Or maybe I should. This one did spoil my plans for the village. Should I cut off her ears, too, Mother? And feed them to the dogs like I did with the elves?"

This statement, spoken calmly by a boy who shouldn't even dream of such atrocities, chilled them all and Isolde started to crack. She fell to her knees beside her son and extended her hands to him.

"No, no, Conner!" She exclaimed, "Please, you must come back to yourself! You must come back to _me!_"

Conner teetered briefly between whatever evil was controlling him and his true nature. He shook his head a little, his eyes clearing for a second and he was looking at Ffion's band fearfully. He shrank close to Isolde and when he spoke, it was the voice of a little boy.

"M-mother? What's g-going on? W-where am I?"

Isolde exhaled a shaky breath and tears escaped down her cheeks. She smiled tremulously at her son and reached to brush his hair as he shook his head again.

"Oh, Maker be praised," She murmured, "Conner, Conner, can you hear me?"

He drew back from her abruptly, his eyes burning with deeper hatred. He impatiently knocked her hands from his face and straightened his back.

"Get away from me, fool woman!" He said angrily, "I don't need you fawning on me and I don't want your compassion."

Isolde snapped back, on her feet, and her jaw dropped open as she gaped at Conner. Her brown eyes were immeasurably sad and Ffion felt the iron fist around her heart tighten even more. She took a few steps forward and, though everything within her told her to crouch in front of Conner like she used to with Oren, she stifled it and spoke to the boy as an adult.

"Please, we only wish to speak with you," She said and had to work to keep the emotion from her tone.

Conner was fixing his attention on her and not realizing how tortured his mother was by this whole episode. The same hellish glow was obvious in his stare and Ffion had to wonder what they had gotten themselves into here.

"I agree," He replied and adopted her authoritative voice, "I have had enough of this woman insisting on telling me what to do. She doesn't understand that no one tells me what to do and you seem the type that would understand."

"No one tells him what to do! Nobody! Ha, ha!" Teagan was acting the herald, his voice jaunty and the laugh filled with more mockery than humor.

Conner turned on him just as quickly as he turned on his mother. His eyes snapped and his voice was sharp,

"Quiet, Uncle! I warned you that I didn't want any talk without my permission," His temper cooled and he looked back at Ffion, "But we did want to keep things civil, didn't we? Why do you want to talk? What could you possibly offer me that would make the destruction of my army seem less important to me? Tell me why I shouldn't have you killed right now."

"Conner, we've come to help," Ffion was saying cautiously, "We know your father is ill and we want to see if there's anything-"

"No!" He exclaimed, "It was a good deal! Father was kept alive and now I'm the one that gets to send out armies. Everything went as it was supposed to; it was fair!"

Ffion cast a half-glance back at the others and noted that Jowan had lingered in the doorway. She frowned at him and then turned her attention to Conner once more. The mage knew something of this situation that he wasn't telling and she was partly of a mind to put him on the spot, but Isolde was in dire need of their help. There was no use putting further pressure on her by announcing Jowan's presence.

"What of those people in the village?" She asked, waving for quiet as Alistair made a sound in his throat and Leliana shifted her weight, "Were they part of the deal?"

"They didn't have to fight," Conner responded, "If they had just surrendered, all the... unpleasantness would have been avoided. They brought their fate on themselves and I won't let you pin that on me."

These were definitely not the boy's words and Ffion was suddenly aware of how thin the ice was that they were crossing. Conner's eyes were gleaming dangerously again and his explosive temper was close to bursting. She was desperately trying to keep her tongue from getting the better of her and this practice of thinking before speaking was more foreign than she thought it would be. Before she could switch tactics on him, Leliana was cutting in, no longer willing to stay in the background.

"That doesn't justify this massacre that you've ordered," She said and then added with authority, "Release him, demon, he doesn't belong to you."

Conner smirked at the Orlesian and it was then that they could truly see the demon that had taken over the boy's body. His mother stumbled away from him, moaning under her breath in her own tongue. The hellish blaze in Conner's eyes was hotter then ever and when he spoke, it was not his voice.

"Never," He hissed and it was deep and rasping, barely a whisper, "He is mine and you shall not have him."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: **Shorter this week, but on time. Enjoy, all, and take care!

* * *

The soldiers were snapping to attention, Teagan jumping to his feet, and Leliana acted just as quickly. She shot two of the men as they charged forward and Jowan froze another that Sten knocked unconscious when they collided. Morrigan was igniting three more and Ffion danced between the last two while Alistair battled with Teagan. He wasn't aiming to kill the Bann and as Sten and Tilly knocked the last soldier out of the picture, Ffion darted to Morrigan and grabbed the witch's wrist, preventing her from sending bolts of lightening at Teagan. Alistair succeeded in shoving him to the ground and the Bann's head banged roughly against the floor. He was dazed for a moment and, in the lull, Isolde was flying to his side, putting one hand on his shoulder.

"Teagan?" She asked gently, her voice broken and tears staining her cheeks, "Are you okay?"

Ffion's eyes were darting around the room, but Conner had disappeared. Unfortunately, half the soldiers had been killed in the fray, though the others were slowly getting to their feet.

"I am... fine, I think," Teagan's voice was hesitant, "I'm myself again at least. But we have to decide what we're going to do here."

"'Tis obvious, I think," Morrigan was once more cool and superior, "The child has become an abomination. This makes our choice clear, yes?"

Isolde was automatically put on the defensive. Her brown eyes flashed up at the witch and her voice was sharp even as her expression filled with more grief.

"No, that is not an option."

Morrigan's gold eyes were gleaming and she was ignoring the Arlessa. She glanced at Ffion who seemed almost as torn as Isolde. The witch knew what she was thinking without hearing her words and she let out a long-suffering sort of sigh, leaning on her staff.

"So Conner is the source of these... monsters?" Ffion asked slowly, still treading with care.

Teagan was getting to his feet, rubbing the back of his head and then sinking onto a table that was pushed against the wall. He opened his mouth to answer, but his sister-in-law was faster.

"No!" She said and it was a half-believed cry, "He's just a boy. There's no way to... How would he..."

She trailed off, not able to keep up the ruse. There was no explanation for Conner's behavior other than what Ffion and Morrigan had stated. And as much as Isolde might hate that, she had to admit it.

"If I could say something?" Jowan's voice cut in. He wasn't looking at Isolde, instead he had his gaze fixed on Ffion, "Conner's abilities are untried for the most part. It is possible that he caused a tear in the Veil. If that's the case, then Morrigan is right. He's become an abomination and we need to decide what to do here."

"You?" Isolde hissed, "_You!_ What are you doing here? I put you-"

"Please, Lady Isolde," Leliana interrupted, "He wanted to help and-"

"_Help?_" Isolde exclaimed, her hands clenching so that her knuckles turned white, "He's the one who poisoned my husband and may be the cause for all of this and you think he wants to help?"

Jowan looked stricken, as well he should, but didn't let the Arlessa's anger deter him. He came more fully into the room, standing with Ffion, and trying to ignore how the soldiers had advanced a little.

"I know I have no right to speak with you so boldly, my lady, but you must hear me out," He was speaking swiftly, proving that he was much younger than he looked. His desperation to set everything right was written on his face and caused Teagan to put one hand on Isolde's arm in a wordless request to allow the mage to speak, "I took advantage of your fears and I did something that I'll regret for the rest of my life. But with this dilemma, I may be able to help you."

"Is there a way to save my nephew without taking... drastic actions?" Teagan questioned, "I'm not an expert in the workings of the Circle, but I do know that when an abomination has been discovered, the only way out is... execution."

Isolde moaned in despair and turned to slump against the table beside the Bann. He didn't hesitate in placing one arm around her shoulders and allowing her to lean into him. One hand rubbed at her arm soothingly and his blue eyes didn't leave Jowan's.

"There is," The mage answered and he was speaking more hesitantly than ever. His hazel eyes flickered to Isolde and then to Alistair before he looked at Teagan with determination, like he wasn't going to allow anyone else to distract him, "I have... blood magic. It's possible for me to cast a spell that would allow another mage to enter the Fade and battle with the demon that has been holding Conner hostage."

"A way to enter the Fade?" Isolde repeated brightly, pulling away from Teagan and looking hopeful for the first time since they had seen her, "You can destroy the demon without hurting my boy?"

Jowan looked at her like he hated squashing this sudden joy, but he went on all the same.

"Yes, but since it is blood magic, this spell requires a blood sacrifice," He went on in a rush as though he sensed how close Leliana and Alistair were to exploding, "I would need a volunteer to give the blood and it would not be a mere prick of the finger. This kind of spell calls for all of it, I'm afraid. Your son would be saved, my lady, but a life would be taken all the same."

"Surely-"

"Blood magic," Alistair sneered, interrupting Leliana's outburst, "How can more evil make any of this right?"

"The other option is killing the boy," Sten's deep voice was matter-of-fact, "Unfortunate, but it needs to be done."

Ffion had remained silent through the whole exchange. She felt Morrigan's gaze on her and she did her best to ignore it. Glancing side-long at Jowan, she asked,

"There's no way around someone giving their life to save him? To complete the spell and send another mage into the Fade?"

"I'm afraid not," He replied, "This is why it's blood magic. Forbidden, dangerous, and effective."

Isolde pulled herself from Teagan completely, standing straight and looking grim and determined.

"Then let it be my blood," She said firmly, her tone not allowing for arguments.

"Isolde," Teagan murmured, "You can't just jump into this. Consider what it would mean first. What about Eamon? What about Redcliffe? Who's to say this will actually work?"

"There's nothing to consider," She replied, "It's either someone kills Conner, which I will not allow, or I give my life to save my son. I know what I am choosing."

The Arlessa was not about to be talked out of this and she reminded Ffion sharply of Valena's stubborn ambition in getting out of the castle. She also thought of her mother and for a moment, allowed that little voice within her to be heard. Conner looked so much like Oren and Isolde's love and devotion to her little boy was akin to Oriana's. She couldn't let anyone harm this boy who reminded her of her nephew and she wasn't about to let Isolde sacrifice herself when there was the possibility of other solutions. Letting out a little breath, she snapped herself out of these thoughts and straightened her shoulders.

"Is there no other way?" She asked, "What are the steps that the Circle would take if they faced something like this? Surely they don't condone the murder of a child?"

"You know nothing of the Circle, do you?" Morrigan's voice was cold, "They would not hesitate to cut down anything remotely resembling a demon and those that do survive are stripped of all emotions. Jowan informed us all of this."

"If you were to make the trip to the Circle and explain the situation, the First Enchanter wouldn't waste a minute in helping, if he could," Jowan's voice held an edge of excitement, like he hadn't considered anyone was even willing to take this path, "You would be guaranteed more mages and all the lyrium needed. No blood sacrifices, no deaths; the lyrium replaces the blood that I'd need to cast the same spell."

Ffion grabbed hold of this new revelation and looked at Teagan hopefully.

"How long would it take us to get to the Circle?" She asked, feeling better with this option than the others.

Teagan thought about this briefly and lifted his shoulders a little. His blue eyes were just as hopeful as hers, but he was eternally practical and he had to be the voice of reason.

"With a troop, it takes about two days," He answered, "If you were to travel with just a few people, however, you may be able to make it in a day and a half, perhaps even less. But you have to think of what would happen here. There's no guarantee that there won't be another attack."

Alistair fixed him with a firm, unblinking stare. Like Ffion, he had jumped on this opportunity, hating the alternatives.

"Is this a chance you're willing to take?" He questioned, "Considering what we can avoid if we get help from the Circle, you can't tell me that this isn't the better way."

Teagan waffled, looking at Isolde with a desperation that clearly betrayed his affections for her. He glanced around quickly and a frown creased his forehead, but his gaze was clear when he looked back at Ffion and Alistair.

"Yes, it is," He said stubbornly, "Isolde, I can't ask you to give your life up when there's the possibility to avoid it. I owe Eamon that much at least. If you mean to see this through, you should leave soon."

He was talking to Ffion again and Morrigan's annoyed sigh and Sten's soft grumble were ignored. The Bann was pulling a pouch loose from his belt and he stepped forward, pressing this into Ffion's hand.

"You don't need-"

"I do," He interrupted, "This will cover any expense. I wish I could give you horses as well, but they were the first to be attacked when all this started. Go with all the speed you can. I think that the village will be safe, now that Conner has been frightened. He seems to come back to his own mind from time to time and the fighting must have triggered this. Maker go with you and bless you for what you're doing."

Ffion felt his urgency and turned to face her group. She was startled by the animosity in Sten's gaze and not at all surprised by the annoyance in Morrigan's.

"You are proving my original perceptions correct," The Qunari told her, his violet eyes blazing, "This will waste time and does nothing to help us fight the Darkspawn."

"We need the Arl to gather the forces needed to battle the Blight," Ffion explained quite calmly, "And I will not allow an innocent boy to be killed because of a simple mistake. Nor will I let his mother sacrifice herself for the sake of convenience or the fact that it _might_ save time. This is the right thing to do and nothing you say will convince me otherwise."

Alistair and Leliana were soundly on her side and Tilly shoved herself under Ffion's palm as though concurring as well.

"So, in the meantime, we shall let this village-"

"You and Sten are going to stay here," Ffion interrupted Morrigan without pretense. She ignored the protests and continued, "Jowan, I'm guessing that since you would be performing the spell, another mage is needed to enter the Fade? Then Morrigan will be here to help if it comes to that. Sten, you have experience in leading men, right? If the village comes under attack, they'll need your expertise and your blade. I'm not going to listen to arguments and you won't be able to talk me out of this. We'll be back as soon as we possibly can. Jowan, if there's any threat that Conner is getting worse, I trust you won't hesitate to act?"

The mage was on the verge of protesting, but it was very obvious that Ffion wasn't in the mood.

"I won't," He said, "But we'll wait until it's clear that you won't make it in time."

"That's all I can ask," She replied.

Then, with a last warning glance at Sten and Morrigan, she gathered up the bag Teagan gave her, motioned to Alistair, Tilly, and Leliana, and left them to hope and pray for her success.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **I had to post this before I go out and enjoy our sunshine. Dragon Age is not mine, most unfortunately, but here's to dreaming!

* * *

Loghain's mood was sour enough, but when the knock on the door came and it was Howe's voice that he heard, it got decidedly worse. He was still chaffing at Teagan's scalding words during the meeting last week and the doubts the Bann had planted in some of the nobles' heads were getting out of hand. The general didn't turn as Howe entered the room. He was staring into the embers of the fire on the hearth and he took a sip of the wine in his goblet as a means of avoiding talk with the newly appointed Teyrn. He had agreed to Howe's claim on the Highever Teyrnir, but that didn't stop the unease he felt in doing so. The whispers surrounding the deaths of the Couslands were dark and unpleasant and Howe's involvement was much deeper than he let on.

"My lord," Howe's voice was as slippery as usual and Loghain cocked his head at him as a means of granting permission to speak, "Yes, I'm afraid I have some unexpected... rather unfortunate news. There seems to be Grey Wardens that survived the Battle of Ostagar."

Loghain turned fully and arched his brows at the Teyrn. He felt his back stiffening at the idea that some of the traitors were still walking _his_ country's soil and his grey-blue eyes narrowed.

"How?" He hissed in reply.

"I'm not sure, my lord," Howe seemed unperturbed by the general's anger and went on smoothly, "They were discovered in Lothering and the soldiers that found them were unsuccessful in destroying them. You needn't worry, my lord, those men have been executed like the traitors they are. But I am aware of the pressing need to do the same with these survivors."

Loghain put the goblet of wine on the table beside him before he hurled it at the wall and then folded his arms across his chest. He usually appreciated the Teyrn's calm attitude, but at the moment, he wanted nothing more than to strike fear into the heart of whoever stood in his way. The soldiers that had been dispatched to take care of any survivors of that massacre were supposed to be under Howe's thumb and the fact that they had failed spectacularly at this most crucial time was enough to send any commander over the edge.

"And what do you propose?" He asked and his tone was biting with venom, "Are you going to go after them yourself?"

"And pay the ultimate price, sire?" Howe answered and his self-preservation was on fine display. His concern for his own neck was the reason Loghain needed him and it also happened to be why he couldn't trust him, "I wouldn't be so foolish. No, to get rid of the finest order of warriors Ferelden has ever seen, we need the best."

He gave a small wave and, from the darkened corner behind him, stepped a slender, lithe figure. It was an olive skinned Elf, his straight, shoulder-length blonde hair pulled up at the sides and secured in a braid. He gave both men a bow that was exaggerated in its formality and his amber colored eyes were dancing. Two wicked looking shortblades were slung across his back and in the leather armor, he could move without making a sound. The only noise came from the rustling of pouches secured to the belt around his waist and as his head came back up, he gave them a feral smile. It made his eyes spark and the dark green tattoo across one cheekbone curl up slightly.

"The best, yes," He murmured with a thick Antivan accent, "And the most expensive. General, the Crows send their regards."

Loghain turned back to the fire without acknowledging the Elf's comment and instead was muttering darkly under his breath,

"Assassins!"

"Sire, you have said yourself the Grey Wardens threaten the stability of our country and you shouldn't needlessly endanger your daughter," Howe was quick to exploit those aspects of the general's life that would get him results, "This is fool-proof and exactly what is needed."

Loghain still remained silent and the Elf was speaking again.

"I assure you, gentlemen, your targets will trouble you no longer," In addition to the feral smile, he had the trick of making his voice almost purr and it was anything but endearing, "The Crows are not hired unless all other roads have been tried... and failed."

The general waved one hand impatiently and Howe relaxed. He sent a look at the Elf who bowed again and left the room. So neither man noticed how the Elf seemed to deflate when he wasn't under their scrutiny anymore. His self-confident smirk was gone and the amber eyes were dead and haunted. He slipped out onto the busy streets of Denerim and glanced back only once to the castle. It wasn't a farewell that he muttered though. Instead it was a name and it was spoken with the same reverence as a prayer,

"For Rinna."

* * *

Ffion was wishing that she hadn't left the two most intimidating members of her little band in Redcliffe. They had reached the Lake Calenhad docks only to discover that the regular ferryman had been replaced by a dim-witted Templar who had become quite drunk on his own power. He refused to tell them why they couldn't gain entrance to the Circle and instead kept repeating that the Knight-Commander Greagoir had trusted him with the post and it was his job to keep people like Ffion and her band out. She couldn't help but let her thoughts travel a little as the Templar, Carroll, argued with Alistair. _If Morrigan was here, all it would take is one flick of her wrist. Maybe just light his hair on fire, or Sten could have threatened to tear his arms off_... She snapped back to herself before she let those thoughts get the better of her and stepped forward, laying one hand on Alistair's arm.

"Listen," She said sharply and was pleased that she adopted Fergus' best commander-tone, "We're Grey Wardens and we've been promised aid by the Circle. I know what your Knight-Commander told you, but don't you think he'd be angry if he missed out on available help because you're too stubborn to realize that we aren't posing _any_ threat to _anyone_ apart from whatever's amiss in the tower?"

Leliana was quick to catch on to what Ffion was doing and she added her two bits as well. She had a trick of softening her blue eyes and an uncanny ability to pick up the most vulnerable spot in anyone's armor and she put both of these to good use.

"And, Carroll, if you agree to this, we will be sure to let the Knight-Commander know that you have been very helpful. It could mean a reward for you. A commendation, perhaps."

"But... I... It shouldn't-" His stuttering was encouraging and he only had eyes for the now dimpling Orlesian.

"You are being very brave, dear," She cooed, "But my friend is right. Why should this decision be your responsibility? We will tell your commander that you brought us over thinking only of helping him with this problem."

"All right, fine," He caved and blinked at his own sudden capitulation. He made an attempt to stay superior, but Leliana's bright smile didn't help matters, "You're going to get me into trouble. I shouldn't be doing this."

"You're a dear," The Orlesian replied and chucked him under the chin as she passed by him to step into the little boat, "And this is so lovely of you that we wouldn't dream of causing you grief. Right?"

This was directed at Ffion and Alistair who were staring at her in wide-eyed wonder as they followed. Tilly was antsy and her nervousness distracted Ffion so it was the ex-Templar that answered.

"No," He said with false cheeriness, "Now why would we want to cause _you_ trouble?"

Leliana sent him a warning look that was ignored as Alistair turned to help Ffion lift Tilly down into the boat. The dog was on the verge of jumping out again until her lady stepped beside her. She settled herself next to Alistair, tugged Tilly's head into her lap, and held it on her knees, stroking the Mabari's soft ears. She murmured comfortingly to her and though Tilly stopped quivering, her eyes roved between each side of the boat, apprehensive of the water all around her.

"Don't Mabari usually like the water?" Alistair questioned as he rubbed the dog's back.

"Yeah, usually," Ffion answered and had to admire how gracefully the ex-Templar's hand moved. Her cheeks were suddenly hot and she berated herself swiftly and silently for such fancies, "But Tilly had a rather traumatic experience as a puppy. She jumped into water that was really deep and if I hadn't been there, she would have drowned. She hasn't been the same since."

"Nobody would," He agreed. Dropping his hand from the dog's back, he reached up and rubbed at his neck, trying to dispel some of the soreness that had been plaguing him. He wasn't used to all this sleeping on the ground and fighting with what seemed like every person they came across. Glancing side-long at Ffion and wondering at the color flooding her cheeks, he added, "You haven't talked much about where you lived before all of this. It was near the water then?"

The flood of fear that swept through her was unfounded and rather ridiculous. But tracking down Howe was going to be so much easier when fewer people knew who she was and Alistair's empathy and understanding would make that conversation much harder than it had to be. Something within her told her it wasn't fair to do this to him, especially after he trusted her with the secret of his royal blood, but that didn't change the fact that she wasn't ready for the conversation.

"Yes," She replied shortly and winced at the caustic tone, "But... Listen, Alistair, I'm sorry. I know you mean well, but I'm not ready to talk about that. I told you I've lost enough to know what you're going through with Duncan and... Can you accept that? It's too-"

She was stopped abruptly as the ex-Templar put one hand on hers, covering Tilly's ear. His honey colored eyes were concerned, kind, and Ffion's heartbeat was so loud she wondered if he could hear it. He squeezed her fingers gently and gave her the lopsided smile.

"You don't have to tell me," He reassured her, "I'm just returning the favor. You told me I could talk to you whenever I felt like I needed it and I want you to know that it'll work both ways."

Ffion blinked, reprimanding herself sharply about letting any of them see her tears, and extricated her fingers from under his. She smiled a little and wondered again why she felt so goofy when he smiled at her like that. There had been one boy in the castle that made her blush so easily, but that had been when she was 12 years old and hadn't lasted for more than a week. Gilmore was the main reason for this. His incessant teasing turned her off the idea completely and then, later, with her mother's talk of marriage, she became even more determined to avoid this messy relationship business. These thoughts and memories were almost as painful as Alistair's empathy and she was nodding her head, staring down at Tilly so she wouldn't turn an even brighter red.

"Thanks," She said softly, "I know it's rude of me to... I'll tell you when I'm ready. And I mean it, Alistair, thank you. It's wonderful to know that someone will just listen if I need it."

"Right," He said promptly and was himself again, "Without threatening dismemberment or setting your clothes on fire or stabbing you in the back, yeah?"

"And where do I fit in on that list?" Leliana questioned.

She was glancing back at them, her blue eyes dancing in amusement. They were reaching the dock at the base of the tower that spiraled away into the coming evening. The sun was setting and reflecting off the water in an explosion of red and orange. Its fading rays were illuminating the tower's white stones and the windows winked down at them.

"All of the above," Alistair answered.

Ffion couldn't help but chuckle and she wanted to thank the ex-Templar again. He hadn't missed the emotion on her face and was quick to set things right once more. One sure-fire way to do so was to make her laugh and he succeeded without much trouble.

Carroll expertly landed the boat at the dock and Tilly was the first to jump out. She was looking up at her lady accusingly and Ffion grinned at her. Reaching out and pulling on one ear, she muttered with affection,

"Big chicken."

The Mabari immediately licked her hand and hampered her legs as Ffion clambered out of the boat and followed the Templar to the doors of the Circle. The place was as intimidating as all the works she'd read on it had proclaimed. It soared away above their heads and though the windows promised spectacular views, the young Warden couldn't shake the feeling that this place was nothing more than a cage. Morrigan was the first mage she had met and though the witch wasn't the standard template for all magic users, she wasn't the terror that Chantry beliefs claimed mages were. She was dangerous, yes, but she hadn't yet lost her head and destroyed everything around her because of the abilities she had been born with. It made Ffion wonder if the base line for all those stories of mages snapping was rooted in the fact that they were locked away by those who refused to try and understand them.

"You never told us what the problem was here," Alistair commented as Carroll reached for the handle on one of the double doors, "I mean, you never said why the Circle was shut down, just that it wasn't possible for the First Enchanter to help us. What's the matter?"

Carroll glanced over his shoulder at them and suddenly appeared much older than what he was; much more likely to be taken seriously.

"I got you over here, right?" He said and his voice was sharp, "This is what you wanted. Well, now you'll see that some things are just not meant to be tampered with."


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **Late, but a little longer this time. As much as I hated playing the Broken Circle quest in the actual game, it was kind of fun to write. Enjoy, folks!

* * *

Ffion and Alistair exchanged worried frowns and then the doors were opened and they were in the midst of what the Templar was talking about. In the front hall of the tower, more Templars were scurrying about. Most of them were wearing their full helms and so the looks of utter shock and terror were only visible on those seated on the ground, looking like they had been to hell and back. The windows on this floor had been boarded up and barricaded which made Ffion wonder what they were more worried about: something getting in or something getting out. The carved stone partitions that broke up the hall were stacked with supplies and, ahead of them, the doors leading further into the tower were locked tight and guarded by four incredibly tense Templars.

Carroll walked by his comrades without a word and led them straight to a grey haired man that looked as though he was about to collapse. He turned to them and his brown eyes lit with fire. He studied each of them and, before Carroll could speak or one of them come to his rescue, the man was snapping at the young Templar,

"What the hell is this, Carroll? The purpose of replacing the ferryman was so that we wouldn't have unwanted intruders. What were you thinking?"

Carroll sent a 'see-I-told-you-so' look over his shoulder at them and Ffion was stepping in before more damage could be done.

"You are Knight-Commander Greagoir? I'm Ffion of the Grey Wardens and these are my comrades: Alistair and Leliana. We have urgent business with the First Enchanter."

"The First Enchanter is indisposed," The commander's voice mocking and exhausted, "You've wasted your time."

"Indisposed?" Alistair repeated, "From what I've heard of the First Enchanter, he always tries to hear those that may need his help. What's changed? Other than your obvious paranoia?"

Greagoir's features became even longer, making him look much older. He dismissed Carroll with a wave of one hand and then ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. Watching the Templars bustling around him, he spoke grimly,

"I don't see the point in trying to keep this concealed any longer and I know the Grey Wardens have always given aid where it is needed. To put it bluntly, the Circle is no longer under Templar control. I'm not sure of the details or the truth of this, but the rumors are that a group of blood mages overthrew the guards within, intending to take Irving – er – the First Enchanter, hostage. The Templars fought back, but the mages have become abominations. What you see here is all that remains of our forces. I've called for the Right of Annulment and now, we are merely waiting to hear word of either agreement or a rejection."

"Right of Annulment?" Ffion asked as Leliana balked, "What does that mean?"

"The Right of Annulment, if granted, gives the Templars permission to destroy the Circle," Alistair's voice was just as grim as the commander's and his honey colored eyes were sad, "It means that all those in the tower will be killed, whether or not they're abominations."

"It's murder," Leliana said and her cheeks were pink with rage, making her freckles stand out more prominently.

"We don't have any other choice," The commander replied, "If we go in there and try to bring them back, the risk that even one of them won't be contaminated... No, it's too dangerous. It's the Right of Annulment or nothing."

Ffion watched the Templars and searched for the right words. She was starting to get pissed off and she wasn't sure she had the patience to deal with this anymore. For once in this whole damn mess, she wanted something that was straight forward and didn't consist of jumping through more hoops than anyone had the strength for. Carroll's immaturity and frustrating habit of talking in circles had led her to believe that the problem wasn't that serious and to find out that there was the risk of blood mages running loose in the tower, well... She was sure that Jowan wasn't the standard blood mage just as Morrigan wasn't the standard witch.

"Fine," She said and even she could hear how sharp her voice had become, "What proof would you need to stop the Annulment if I was to enter the tower and solve the problem myself?"

Greagoir was studying her in shocked surprise at this outburst and though his gaze was unbelieving, he wasn't about to discount her merely because she was being bold.

"I would only accept the safety of the Circle if the First Enchanter himself stood before me and told me it was so," He answered and gave Ffion the feeling that he was testing her, "If you are seriously considering this, I must warn you that there will be no turning back once you go through those doors. I won't be able to trust anyone but the First Enchanter, not with those demons running rampant."

Ffion hesitated, her anger dissolving into apprehension. This was a death sentence and she couldn't in good conscious volunteer the others without some sort of discussion. She glanced back at Leliana and Alistair before looking at Greagoir again.

"Give us a minute to consider this and we'll give you our answer."

The commander nodded and his look of knowing smugness did little to improve Ffion's mood. He turned away and Alistair and Leliana immediately put their heads together with Ffion's. Leliana's anger hadn't eased any, but her eyes were concerned and reflected more than a little trepidation. Alistair's expression was grim and it was clear that he believed the right thing to do would be to help however he could.

"This is the only way to save both Conner and Isolde," He said, confirming the expression on his face, but he was speaking cautiously as though he was worried Ffion would dive headfirst into this without hearing their opinions first, "Not to mention that it's the right thing to do. There's no way to know if the Circle really is lost and destroying it without that certainty... I vote for doing whatever we can."

"I agree," Leliana added, "There shouldn't even be an argument. We can find the First Enchanter and possibly save more lives this way."

Ffion was hesitating still, looking over her shoulder at the Templars again, and seeing the terrified expressions on the men's faces. She caught the smug glance that Greagoir sent her which poked at the competitive side of her nature and steeled her spine. The mere fact that the commander didn't believe her capable was shoving her towards attempting it and she gave the other two a single nod. Squaring her shoulders, she turned back to Greagoir and tried to keep her apprehension from showing.

"How much time can you give us?" She questioned.

"How ever long it takes you to find the First Enchanter," He answered and mimicked her authoritative tone.

She sent one more look back at Leliana and Alistair and was encouraged by their determined expressions.

"Then we should start as soon as we can."

The commander softened a little for the first time since they had spoken to him and he waved one hand absently behind him. A Templar had set up a makeshift table that was spread with what little supplies that had been salvaged.

"We have some supplies available," He said, almost as a means of calling a truce, "Take what you need and then we'll open the doors for you."

They stocked up on health poultices, arrows for Leliana, and whetstones for Ffion and Alistair's blades. As soon as they had stowed these away in their packs and proclaimed themselves ready, Greagoir accompanied them to the beautifully crafted double doors.

"If the Right of Annulment is agreed on before-"

"It's what you have to do," Alistair interrupted and his voice was cold, "You do what you have to and we'll do the same."

The commander was almost sheepish, but he let it go, and instead motioned to his men to open the doors. He looked as though he wanted to give them a last word of warning or encouragement, but Ffion knew there wasn't anything left to say. She nodded to him and slipped through the doors first.

"Maker go with you," Greagoir murmured and then the doors clanged shut.

Alistair arched his brows as they heard the lock slide back into place. His honey colored eyes met Ffion's and when he smiled, it was grim.

"Well, that was a friendly send off, wasn't it?"

"These poor people," Leliana murmured.

She was crouched before a slumped form of a Templar. Letting his wrist fall from her hand as she realized there was no life left in him, she allowed her blue eyes to travel around their surroundings. The others followed her gaze. The sudden quiet pressing down on them was unsettling and oppressive. Not far from the Templar's body was another, this time a mage who's face was a mask of fear. They didn't study these long, instead they ventured further in the tower, trying not to trip over the debris strewed across the floor. There were books, papers, articles of clothing, staffs, weapons; over-turned shelves and broken pottery, and every now and then another body they couldn't help but look more closely at, just in case one of them still drew breath. The one thing that they didn't find was resistance and that was the most unnerving. Everything was just so quiet and almost peaceful. The tower was beautiful, though, in spite of the damage done to it. Beneath the scorched walls and broken, busted doors, the masterful architecture and finely carved stone was still visible. But Ffion's thought was still the same. _It's a cage. A gilded cage._

Tilly stopped quite suddenly and brought them up short. Her head was cocked and she was listening intently. Ffion held up one hand for silence, though it wasn't needed. None of them had said a word since Leliana's comment and the sound of a child's quiet cry followed by a deep roar of something inhuman was distinctly heard. They bolted down the hallway and through another set of doors, only to skid to a stop again. In the room they found themselves there were about a dozen children that had been herded into one corner of the room by three young mages, while a fourth, older one battled with a towering, flaming figure. Before any of them could help, the mage flipped her staff between her fingers, striking out at the demon before her as the wood flashed a brilliant blue. The flaming monster staggered back and the woman didn't hesitate as she lashed out again, this time calling ice and water and watching with satisfaction as the demon fizzled away. It disappeared into the floor at the entrance of the next doorway. There were no doors here and instead an erected wall shimmered pale blue in the dim hall, obviously a shield cast by the mages, and its transparency allowed them to see the steps leading to the second floor doorway.

The mage was whirling to face them as she heard one of the children cry out again and her blue eyes were icy as she studied them. Her staff was still clasped in one hand as she approached slowly.

"Who are you?" She demanded, "Where did you come from? Speak, I won't hesitate in using force."

"Please, my lady," Ffion implored, the command in the mage's voice rubbing her the wrong way. She wasn't used to being the one ordered about, "My name is Ffion, this is Alistair and Leliana. We're here to help."

The mage waffled for a moment longer and was satisfied when they didn't show any signs of turning into abominations on her. She slipped the staff to her back again and gave them a wan smile.

"I'm sorry for my abruptness, but we have no choice. The children must be kept safe and you can understand why I'm unwilling to trust new developments in this... mess," She shook her head and her smile warmed, "I also have forgotten my manners. My name is Wynne. I am Senior Enchanter of the Circle. Well, what's left of it, that is."

Ffion studied Wynne. The mage was maybe 10 or 15 years older than her mother and she couldn't help but draw the comparisons. Her eyes were bright blue, paler than Leliana's, but just as quick and clever as Eleanor's. Her short hair was snowy white and pulled back into a ponytail that had become mussed with the exertion of fighting. It was clear that she had been beautiful in her time and the traces of it still lingered in her face, once one looked beyond the exhaustion and worry.

"Then there are survivors," Leliana said and the relief was evident in her voice, "With what the Knight-Commander told us, we weren't sure if there was anything to hope for."

"Knight-Commander?" Wynne repeated, "Then you've spoken with Greagoir. He's the one that sent you in?"

Alistair and Ffion exchanged glances.

"Not exactly," Alistair answered slowly.

Wynne was frowning in confusion and her lips parted to ask what he meant when Ffion added,

"Alistair and I are Grey Wardens, Lady Wynne. We came to speak with the First Enchanter about honoring the treaty the Circle signed with our Order and also to ask for assistance with a possessed child. We hadn't heard that the Circle was in disarray and Greagoir is giving us time to find the First Enchanter."

The mage looked between them, her blue eyes easily picking up what they had left out. Glancing at the group of children and their stalwart guardians, she lowered her voice a little and stepped closer.

"Time?" She repeated, "Time for what? What did Greagoir decide?"

"He's... I'm sorry, serah, he's called for the Right of Annulment," Ffion answered and didn't let her gaze fall from Wynne's. She knew that if this woman was anything like her mother, there was no way she would put up with concealment and half-truths, "He told us the only thing that will prevent such a catastrophe of taking place is if the First Enchanter himself stands before him and tells him the tower is safe."

"The Right of Annulment," Wynne murmured and closed her eyes as the full force of this news hit her, "Such a drastic... but if anyone else was in his position, they would do the same."

"But you're alive," Leliana cut in and her voice was eternally optimistic, "That means there could be other survivors. Ffion, we have to hunt for them. We can't let this happen."

Wynne glanced at them again, this time with hope blazing in her eyes. She straightened her shoulders and motioned to one of the other mages.

"If you mean to continue on in the tower, let me come with you," She said as a young, auburn haired woman came to stand at her elbow, "I know the tower like the back of my hand and you will need magic to ward off some of these monsters. Petra, stay with the children, keep them safe and calm. I'll erect the wall again after we're through."

The young woman nodded even as she frowned.

"Are you sure you'll be alright, Wynne?" She asked, "You were so badly hurt that last time and-"

"I will be fine, my dear," Wynne interrupted briskly, "There's no need to fret. Watch after the little ones and we will do all we can to end this."

It was Ffion's turn to frown as she trailed after Wynne who was walking to the shimmering wall. She studied the way the mage was walking and couldn't see any evidence of a life-threatening injury, but if Wynne wasn't up to the challenges they were going to face...

"My lady-"

"Please, Warden, my name is Wynne," She smiled warmly at Ffion, "And since I will now be one of your companions, there's no need for such formality."

"Wynne, then. If you're hurt, we can-"

Wynne was clearly used to being in charge of situations and she interrupted Ffion again. She wasn't being rude, she was merely trying to hasten their progress.

"I am fine, truly. There's nothing more to be done that I haven't already and anything that comes up will be of little consequence," Her lips turned up again and she added, "I am a spirit healer. It's the field of magic I've been involved with since I was young and there's nothing a potion could do for me that my magic hasn't."

"Then we're more than happy to have you along," Alistair commented.

She beamed at him quickly and then turned back to the wall. Studying this with something close to amazement, she removed the staff from her back and held it before her in both hands.

"I am glad I acted so quickly to cast this spell," She was speaking to herself, not to them, "If I had been just a moment too late... Nevermind, it doesn't matter. As soon as I open it, slip through, I'll be right behind you. I can't leave it open for too long."

Leliana was motioning for Ffion to prepare herself and so it was Alistair who nodded at the mage. Wynne disrupted her protective wall and they ducked through, Tilly right on Ffion's heels. Her lady had one of her razor-sharp knives in each hand and Alistair's sword gleamed in the light caused by Wynne's magic. Leliana's knuckles were white with the force which she gripped her bow and, when the mage followed behind them and conjured the wall once more, there was a sobering feeling of finality.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** This is a little longer this week. I'm going out of town on Wednesday and I don't know yet if I'll be able to post next week. So enjoy and take care and all the other good things! catalinaD

* * *

Wynne seemed the only one ready to go on as she turned to them and her blue eyes were determined. She didn't sling her staff away, instead keeping it grasped in one hand as she directed her words at Ffion,

"There are five floors in this tower, each spiraling up from the next. Irving's office is on the next one and I suggest heading there first. If he got away from the chaos when it started and went somewhere to gather himself, it would be there. At the very least we may find evidence of what might have happened to him."

Ffion gave a little wave and her knife winked up at her.

"I'll ask you to lead the way then, if you don't mind," She said, "This place is rather... intimidating."

Wynne nodded her head and started up the stairs to the second floor. Beneath the exhaustion and stubborn lines in her face, she was amused by Ffion and quite relieved that she was no longer fighting on her own.

"That's entirely understandable," She replied, "You said you and Alistair?... are Wardens. Surely you must know what the General Loghain has been claiming about your Order? It can't be safe to go about confessing this to others."

The mage was opening the door and her face flickered briefly at the sight of more dead in the hallway. She couldn't seem to help but glancing through the doorways that they were passing and Alistair's face was so grave that Ffion had to wonder how much becoming a Templar had really meant to him.

"We know of Loghain's lies," She answered and heard the sharpness returning to her voice, "Just as we know that he's hired mercenaries to take care of any stragglers. Those aren't the actions of an innocent man and, so far, those that we've come across haven't been receptive to the claims."

"I have to say that I wasn't convinced either," Wynne answered, "I was at Ostagar briefly, just before the battle, and the Wardens were just as determined to finish the fight that day as everyone else. If not moreso. Since I was called away to help here, I wasn't aware of the tragedy until later, but I can't believe that your Order would abandon everyone like Loghain says."

Ffion was about to thank her when the mage held up one hand and tightened her fist around the staff. There was a rustling from a darkened corner and Tilly began growling softly.

"Who's there?" Wynne called and her tone had become steel once more.

"Senior Enchanter," A toneless voice answered as a tall, bald mage emerged from the corner, "I am relieved it is you."

Ffion was frowning at the expressionless face and her lips parted to speak, but Leliana laid one hand on her arm and shook her head.

"Owain? What are you doing here?" Wynne questioned, dropping the staff a little.

"I was in the middle of cleaning out the storage room when the attacks came. After it grew quiet, I tried to leave but ran into the protective wall," Owain's voice was still expressionless, his eyes dim and dead. He was merely answering Wynne's questions as though that was all that mattered, "I was returning to the storage when I heard your footsteps. I do not wish to die."

Wynne looked exasperated. She dropped her staff completely and leaned against it, suddenly looking her age.

"Oh, Owain, you should have said something. I would have let you through."

"Thank you, but I wish to return to the storage, I feel safe there," He blinked, owl-like, at the others and added, "I have no wish to involve myself with Niall's problems."

"Niall?" The Senior Enchanter was the one frowning now and she straightened herself, "What does Niall have to do with this?"

"After the attacks began, he came to the storage asking for the Litany of Adralla. I gave it to him and he departed. If you have nothing further to ask me, Enchanter, may I return to my work?"

The mage gave a wave of her hand, a rather absentminded gesture. Her thoughts were clearly elsewhere, but she gave him one last warning,

"Be careful, Owain, there's no need to put yourself in more danger."

Owain gave them all a slight bow, disappearing down the hall where he took a left. It was quiet enough that they could hear the door close and the light _click_ of the lock. Ffion couldn't help herself anymore. Her grey eyes went to Wynne and she was blurting before anyone could check her,

"What's wrong with him?"

Wynne was startled by the question. She glanced at Alistair and then let her eyes follow Owain's trail. Frowning, she met Ffion's gaze.

"What do you mean?"

"He spoke so oddly," Ffion said with confusion, "It was like he didn't have any fear or worry about any of this."

"Well, in a way, he doesn't," The mage had become a teacher and her voice was endlessly patient. She was briefly surprised by Ffion's inexperience, but didn't let that get in the way of her lecture, "You haven't met any of the Tranquil, I guess? That's what Owain is. When he was younger, he was terrified of attempting the Harrowing, the last test needed to become a true mage. The only other option the Circle could give him was becoming Tranquil and working within the tower. That's what he chose. In the process of Tranquility, emotions and feelings are severed as a way to protect mages from demon possession. It is not the most glamorous lifestyle to be sure, but it takes a kind of courage that not many possess. That is a discussion for another time, however. This news of the Litany, that is the more important issue."

"What is the Litany?" It was Leliana asking this time.

"The Litany of Adralla is used against blood magic. If Niall was looking to use it, he meant to fight back. After we check for Irving, we must seek out Niall."

Again, there was that determination and drive that reminded Ffion of her mother and she felt her heart tighten even as she nodded at Wynne.

"Agreed," She said softly, "Let's get started."

They headed down the hall once more and Ffion glanced at the storage door, studying the wood for a moment. She could see now why Jowan had taken such drastic measures to ensure himself against this fate. It was hard to imagine having everything taken away from her; not being able to feel anything. Something within her demanded to know her reasoning since she had wanted the exact thing after Howe's massacre, but that didn't count. She wanted revenge now and there was nothing on the face of the earth that could convince her to surrender how sweet it would be to kill the bastard. Owain and Jowan and the issues they had were mere stepping stones.

A little further down the hall, closer to stairs leading up to the next floor, Wynne motioned to a busted door. Her face became long and though she opened her mouth to speak, nothing came. There was a pair of feet visible around the corner and the mage seemed unable to say anything, the fear that this might be her First Enchanter obvious in her face.

Alistair was the first to move into the darkened office and Wynne came to herself enough to tap her staff against the ground. Immediately, a pale blue light emerged from the tip and she followed the ex-Templar with the other women in tow. He was already bent over the body and Wynne let out a relieved sigh. It obviously wasn't Irving and though her face flickered briefly with sadness, she was almost elated that they still had something to cling to.

"Everything happened so quickly, I'm not sure if he would have had time to leave any sort of message," She said and headed for the handsome, rather intimidating desk that stood close to the cluttered bookshelves against the far wall, "But it doesn't hurt to look."

She was looking among the papers on the surface of the desk and Leliana had moved amongst the bookshelves. Alistair was on the other side of the room, studying a long, low table that had been used for meals as well as a display for gifts and obviously confiscated belongings of the mages within the tower. Ffion's attention was drawn by a smaller bookcase on its own behind the desk, and a beautifully ornate chest that was to the right of it.

As she crouched to look through the ancient tomes on the shelves, Tilly close enough for her to feel her warm breath on her elbow, she noticed that the lid of the chest was slightly ajar. Frowning, she reached out and nudged it up, sparing a quick glance at the others, only to see that they were still preoccupied. The interior of the chest smelled slightly musty and there was the sharp sting of charred cloth. The burnt smell was originating from a set of robes gleaming in the pale light that came in through the windows and from Wynne's staff. She shifted these aside gently, not sure if the fabric would actually burn her or not, and then studied the contents below. There wasn't a ledger or journal detailing what had happened, but resting at the bottom, there was a black, leather-bound tome with a beautifully stitched tree gracing the cover. Ffion reached in and pulled this out. Crouching so her legs would support the weight of the book, she let it fall open. It was filled with spidery handwriting in a language she couldn't read, but the illustrations in the margins of each page led her to think that it was a book of spells. She flipped back to the front of the book gently, acutely aware of the wearing spine and torn pages. There, on the front cover, was a worn name that had been scrawled years ago, and she couldn't help but start. _Flemeth?_ Her mind exclaimed as she ran her fingertips over it. _How in the hell?... What Morrigan wouldn't give for this!_ At that thought, she cast one furtive look back at the room, and then shifted the small bag about her waist in front of her, unfastening the straps. They had left their bigger packs in the foyer of the tower and had only brought along what they needed and the bag she had was just large enough to fit the tome. As she was re-hooking the straps and getting to her feet again, Wynne was sighing in defeat and turning to face her.

"Nothing," The mage said, "He's left nothing, but that doesn't really surprise me. Let's head to the upper floors."

They fell in with her again and they weren't far down the hall when they could hear urgent whisperings from one of the rooms to the right. Tilly immediately went on the defensive and Leliana eased an arrow to her bow. Wynne's staff was readied and Ffion hefted one of her knives. Alistair came up on the room first and the voices abruptly stopped. Four mages were standing off to the left, close to a cluster of bookshelves, and they cried out as they saw the armed party. Wynne stepped next to Alistair, hardly blinking as she threw up a shield similar to her wall and the mages' spells that were fired flared harmlessly against it. Leliana took one out a moment later and Ffion's knife found its mark in another. Wynne dropped her shield and fired spells in return. The third went down and the fourth fell to her knees as Alistair charged at her. She threw her hands up over her head and the ex-Templar skidded to a halt. The woman at his feet tentatively raised her head and shook her red hair back. She was striking, her grey eyes paler than Ffion's and all the more beguiling with her creamy white skin and the line of kohl around them. She was arching her brows and her full lips twitched. One hand inched towards the staff that had fallen from her fingers and Ffion raised her knife almost casually as she came up behind Alistair. The mage spotted her and froze again.

"I wouldn't," Ffion told her calmly, her voice taking on the note of vicious sweetness that any of the Cousland guard would say was _not_ a good sign, "I can hit a moving target at about 50 yards. At this distance... well, I wouldn't miss."

The mage wisely left the staff alone, trusting the sparkling animosity in Ffion's grey eyes. She studied each of them in turn and when she let out a sigh, it was exhaustion itself. Seeming to deflate even more, she dropped her gaze and suddenly looked quite young.

"I- I'm sorry," She murmured softly and her voice was cultured, pleasant, in spite of the fear present, "If you knew how... I mean, if you could understand what has happened here, you might feel differently."

"I doubt it," Alistair told her dryly.

She glanced up again and started a little when she spotted Wynne. Her gaze was at once defiant and ashamed, as though she hated disappointing the older mage.

"We had little choice," She was speaking softly and for all the world was trying to convince herself as well as them, "Uldred was so persuasive. He fed into our fears and desires and said that the only way to gain any ground for ourselves was to revolt completely."

"Killing these innocents? Pila, that doesn't make any sense," Wynne's voice was cold, but she was loathe to really show the girl her full anger, "Life here is not hard and you had so much promise. This massacre is not excusable."

Pila's pale grey eyes hardened. She was on her knees and she eased back to her heels, palms pressed against her thighs as she looked up at Wynne.

"You know that's not the truth, Wynne," She argued softly, "Greagoir and the Templars have become more and more restrictive with everything and Irving has allowed it. Your absences over the past months has blinded you to this, but not completely. When was the last time any of the mages were allowed away from the tower without fear of being followed within a few days time? How long has it been since the apprentices were given permission to sit on the lake shore and enjoy the sunlight on their faces? Even the children are being taught that they are monsters, creatures that the world has a right to fear."

The Enchanter's expression was stricken and the others wisely avoided this discussion. Ffion was listening wide-eyed, wondering how anyone could live with the restraints that Pila was speaking of and Leliana was pitying. Alistair's face had become as long as Wynne's and he looked torn between the desire to remain loyal to his past and the indignation at such harsh treatments.

"Uldred?" Wynne repeated, lighting on the easier, less painful option Pila gave her, "Uldred is responsible for these deaths?"

"He told us that some revolts are bloody and he would try to avoid this, but he lied," Pila's face grew more pale and she dropped her gaze again as her expression became haunted. Her fingers were suddenly twisted together and her voice was barely a murmur, "And he was ruthless. There were those that were willing to surrender, that didn't want violence, and he cut them down anyway. He destroyed the Templars that were retreating, helpless apprentices and sometimes... the children... were dragged from their beds and killed. I never wanted this... He promised..."

Her hands went up again and she covered her face, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Leliana instinctively moved forward, but was checked by Wynne.

"If you had just refu-"

"She felt she had no choice," Ffion's voice was sad with an undercurrent of passionate feeling. She didn't take her eyes from Pila and her thoughts repeated over and over: _A gilded cage, nothing but a gilded cage._ She could relate with the mage's helplessness in watching the innocents cut down and that was a punishment in and of itself, "What of the First Enchanter?"

Pila's head came up sharply and she was looking at Ffion with hope glimmering in her eyes. She brushed the tears from her cheeks and attempted to strengthen her voice before answering.

"Uldred meant to keep him alive. He was taking a select few with him into the Harrowing chamber at the top of the tower and Irving was one," She glanced between them all briefly, "I don't mean to say that the First Enchanter sided with Uldred. He is a hostage."

"Then we shouldn't waste anymore time," Ffion was stooping over the mage she had killed and pulling the knife from the lifeless body. Her expression softened for a brief moment and then she steeled herself and didn't blink as she wiped the blood from the blade, "If this Uldred is determined to take over the tower, he probably won't give the First Enchanter much of a chance to resist."

"What about her?" Alistair questioned, motioning to the still kneeling Pila.

Ffion glanced at the mage and then met Alistair's gaze. Her brows arched up a little and she shoved the knives back into her belt. One hand reached to knock loose strands of her hair out of her eyes and she shrugged her shoulders.

"What about her?" She repeated with assumed innocence.

Alistair noted how her face hardened some and knew that she was well aware of what he meant. But he was willing to play along. And nevermind that he knew she was more than able to withstand his determination with her own.

"She's a blood mage, Ffion," He replied, as if she had forgotten.

"So is Jowan," She answered, mimicking his tone and then frowning as Wynne stiffened.

"Jowan?" The elder mage cut in, "Is this the same Jowan that escaped from the Circle? Or was he not blunt with that information?"

Ffion was inspecting one of Tilly's ears that was bleeding. It wasn't anything too serious and, ignoring Alistair's accusing stare with the same concentration that she ignored Leliana's growing amusement, she helped Pila to her feet.

"Jowan told us everything," She replied and waved Pila's thanks away, "He was the one that encouraged us to come here and ask for assistance with the possessed boy. He also happens to be watching over said boy and we have to press on to keep our promise to the mother and uncle."

"Ffion-"

"You can either assist us or return to the first floor and keep watch over the wall that Wynne constructed to stop the monsters from reaching the children," Ffion spoke over Alistair and didn't give Wynne the chance to ask any more questions about Jowan and Conner. She was barely able to keep her composure when thinking of Conner; Oren kept flashing through her mind with his crooked smile and absolute adoration. Adding Pila's pain and the memory of Isolde's tortured expressions... she wondered how the hell she had held on for so long, "You've paid your price and I believe you when you say that this was not your intention. It would take a heartless bastard to actually want this and we intend to stop him."

"Do you really think-"

"You mean it?" It was Pila interrupting Alistair this time and though Wynne made a noise in the back of her throat and the ex-Templar's face was turning a brighter and brighter red, Leliana was soundly behind Ffion on this one. And with Tilly, that made it three against two, meaning Ffion had won this one, "You're going to let me go?"

Ffion felt her jaw tighten, knowing that it made her features harden and resemble her mother's, which deepened the pain.

"I know what's like to see innocents cut down," She said, forcing her voice to stay steady, "That's punishment in itself. After we save the First Enchanter and restore the Circle, I'll tell him and the Knight-Commander that you did what you could to help us. I don't know what that means to them, but it might hold something for you."

Pila's pale grey eyes flooded with tears of relief and sadness and, for a moment, it looked like she was going to reach out and wring Ffion's hand. Instead she inclined her head and picked up her staff, sliding it to her back when Alistair's hand went to his sword.

"Andraste will certainly bless you for your mercy," She said, "I will do what I can to guard the children. Maker go with you."


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: **Back in town after a glorious near two weeks and hoping you all are doing great! Take care and enjoy, catalina

* * *

She disappeared back the way they had come and Ffion turned to leave as well, and nearly crashed into Alistair. He was standing directly in her path and had his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His usually merry, happy-go-lucky brown eyes were snapping with anger and his face was an even deeper red.

Arching her brows and feigning innocence, Ffion met him glare for glare.

"Yes?" She asked, making her voice light.

"I know you're a smart girl, Ffion, but what the hell are you thinking?" He snapped, "That woman was part of all this chaos and you just let her walk out the door. If it was up to me, I would've killed her or tied her up here to wait out her judgement. You-"

Ffion's frustrations boiled over and she felt her face growing hot with rage. The weight of every one of their decisions was overcoming her and she was snapping before she could remind herself to keep a hold of her tongue.

"You had your chance to lead this whole damn mess, Alistair, and you left it to me. I took that to mean that I could recruit or let go anyone I chose. If you want this responsibility, prove to me that you can handle it."

She brushed by him, smacking into his shoulder in the fashion that she'd seen both Gilmore and Fergus use, and continued to the next floor. In hindsight, it wasn't her smartest move. His splintmail armor was much harder and heavier than her duster leather and her shoulder was smarting with the impact, which soured her mood. It was drawn further down as she heard Wynne speaking soothingly to the ex-Templar and listening to his soft-spoken rants. She wanted to punch something and the only thing she knew would suffice would be Alistair, which would go over about as well as the shoulder bump.

"Do not worry yourself," Leliana's accented voice was speaking quietly in her ear, making her jump. The little Orlesian could move so silently, it was rather frighting, "You did a decent, good thing, Ffion. And you are right: seeing others cut down and helpless to stop it is a punishment I would not wish on anyone."

Ffion suddenly thought of Howe and how satisfying it would be to kill the bastard and her anger at Alistair was almost forgotten.

"I don't know if I'd go that far," She answered, "But thanks, Leliana, it was the right thing and it's nice to hear a confirmation."

They reached the third floor and were met with a few more creatures called abominations, according to Wynne. They were like nothing Ffion had ever seen and she would have examined them more closely, but she learned the hard way that the things exploded into a fiery mass not long after they were killed. She had cut one of them down and it staggered away from her, falling about five yards away. Wynne couldn't stop her in time and she had taken a few steps forward before the abomination erupted, knocking her to the floor and singeing her eyebrows and the loose strands of her braided hair. Stunned, she remained flat on her back, trying to regain her breath and wondering how badly her face was burned as it hurt to even blink her eyes. Wynne was casting a healing spell whose warmth reminded her sharply of Highever's summer rains... and then Alistair was dropping to his knees beside her, drawing her back to reality, with a look of such intense concern that he was instantly forgiven.

He slid one arm around her shoulders and helped her to sit up. She allowed it, brushing at the singed hair with a hand that trembled in the aftershock. The ex-Templar's honey colored eyes were anxious as he looked her over.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"I-I think so," She replied and inspected the backs of her hands before gently touching her face. Her gaze went up to the mage, "That happened too damn fast. Thanks, Wynne."

Alistair helped her to her feet and their gazes met.

"I'm sorry," They blurted at the same time and then grinned at each other.

The ex-Templar was shamefaced and Wynne and Leliana both seemed to know he wanted privacy with his fellow Warden. They moved further down the hall, speaking to one another quietly as Alistair met Ffion's gaze again.

"If any of this was up to me, Ffion, we would have been screwed a long time ago," He confessed quietly, "You kept me from breaking down completely and that's still true now."

Ffion's face was hot again and it had nothing to do with the fire she'd almost walked into. She realized that his hands were still resting somewhat idly against her waist and she pulled away from him as she motioned to Wynne and Leliana.

"And I shouldn't have lit into you like that. It just... all came crashing down, I guess. Come on, they're waiting," She took a few steps and then glanced at him again, "Besides I did tell you, you could tell me anything. That was just clearing the air, right?"

_Prolonging the inevitable, girl, prolonging the inevitable._ The voice in her head reminded. She pushed it violently away once more and Alistair's crooked grin helped disperse it more completely than she could manage.

"Right, and now that we've got that out of the way, we can get onto more important things. Like teaching that bastard a lesson."

They pressed on, fighting their way up to the fourth floor, running across more blood mages that preferred fighting to surrendering, and the ever present abominations to whom everyone gave a wide berth. Wynne knew where they were headed and so she was the one that led the way into the middle room on this floor, hoping to make it to the fifth floor. But the tower and Uldred had other plans.

Upon entering the room, Wynne stopped abruptly, her hands tight around her staff. Tilly began growling as Ffion hefted her knife; Leliana was standing shoulder to shoulder with her, bow drawn tight, as Alistair moved ahead of them with his sword at the ready.

Standing in front of them, the body of a fallen mage at its feet, was something along the lines of the other abominations. It was tall and hulking: its skin mottled reddish pink, while its murky white eyes peered intelligently at them. The shoulders were broad and thick and when it spoke, a delicious weariness swept over Ffion's entire band.

"Ah, here are my troublemakers," The voice murmured and was soothing as it chided them, "You have been fighting all the way up here. Why do you resist?"

"We won't hear what you have to say, demon," Wynne replied, and her voice wasn't nearly as sharp as she desired it to be, "We've come here to right what you've done wrong and see that judgement is served."

The demon turned to face them completely and the way it stood blocked the mage at its feet from their view. There was something absurdly comforting in its red splotched face and Ffion felt that if she were to lie down here and allow this weariness to overcome her, everything would be right in the world once more. The side of her brain that was fighting to stay alert and awake forced her body to move next to Alistair, but the demon's voice was casting a spell with the same efficiency that Wynne and Morrigan achieved with a staff. Her limbs felt heavy and she faintly heard her knife clatter to the stone floor. She had been wanting rest and sleep since they left Flemeth's swamp-side hut and here seemed to be her chance.

"But why do that?" The thing questioned, its voice softening even more as it realized they were falling victim, "You have been fighting for so long and you must be so tired. Is it not better to simply rest? Just fall asleep and let your troubles disappear?"

Tilly was slumping to the ground with a heavy sounding _whump_ and Ffion was sinking to her heels beside her. Something brushed her elbow and she relaxed into Alistair's comforting weight without thinking twice about it. The ex-Templar didn't mind. Indeed, he was the next to give in and flopped on the floor, letting Ffion lean into him even more. She blinked and came back to herself for a moment as Leliana spoke.

"But... we have to... resist," Even the Orlesian's usually lilting voice was grating, but it brought Ffion out of the spell long enough to struggle to her feet, trying to throw the weariness away permanently, "We've come... too far to... give in."

Ffion was almost free of the enchantment and then the demon poured it on twice as thick and she fell against Alistair's slumbering form as Wynne and Leliana gave in as well.

"No, no, no, you deserve rest," The thing argued and its voice was just above a whisper, "A nice, long rest; a sleep to restore... everything."

The last thing Ffion saw before giving into the spell was the demon bending over the fallen mage with a possessiveness that was frightening.

* * *

Ffion strode down a long, open hallway of a beautifully constructed building. The walls were shining in the bright sunlight with a consistency that was almost too perfect. It caught the tapestries hanging on the walls and she had to look closely at them. They were depicting herself triumphing over a huge scaled and horned dragon that she figured had to be the Archdemon. Others showed Alistair at her side as they cut the head from the beast and there were Morrigan, Leliana and Sten taking their share of the glory and adoration. The scenes each picked up where the other left off and her step faltered as she looked them over.

Something was wrong. This didn't seem right. This was the outcome everyone had hoped for of course, but she couldn't remember anything about it.

Indeed, everything seemed a little off here. Soldiers in armor decorated with the Wardens' griffon were passing by her and bowing or saluting on the way. Ffion didn't think much of this until she began paying attention to their faces. Every single one of them looked the same. They were all men and very handsome, with straight noses, artfully shaped cheekbones, smooth foreheads and wide-set, crystal clear blue eyes. Birds were singing cheerfully and, through the open windows, the sunlight was glinting off bright green tree leaves and creating a glare on the distant bay. It resembled Highever and Ffion felt the warning bells start to sound in the back of her mind.

Something was horribly wrong...

She faced the hallway again and through the door ahead of her spotted a familiar figure that caused relief and a little trepidation to course through her. In the large courtyard she was approaching, Duncan was standing at the top of a flight of steps, his hands clasped behind his back and smiling at her with the paternal fondness she remembered.

_Remembered?_ Her head questioned. She pushed it aside and hurried to him, never thinking twice about the absence of clicking claws at her side.

"Ah, there you are," Duncan greeted and his smile grew, "We were beginning to wonder when you would rejoin us. How are you enjoying Weisshaupt?"

"Very much," Ffion's words sounded odd and out of place and she wondered why she felt like she was watching herself answer these questions; why it felt like these answers were nothing but learned responses, "This place is beautiful... but..."

"But?" Duncan repeated and he seemed to struggle to keep his deep voice soothing and calm, "But what?"

"But... there's some things that I just don't understand," She spoke quietly, slowly, trying to word her concerns so they would have some sort of order. The alarm bells were still ringing in her head, progressively becoming louder and she caught herself reaching with one hand for something to steady her; wondering why she felt a pang when nothing was there. She glanced at the floor beside her and realized quite suddenly what was missing. _Tilly!_ She thought with a deeper pang, hoping that her hound wasn't lost in the last battle, "I don't know, really. It seems like I should remember something from the victory, but... I mean, we did win, didn't we?"

Duncan laughed and even that sounded off.

"Yes, my dear girl, we did win," He assured her, "It was a glorious triumph and you have become a legend amongst the men here, beating out Alistair, even. It was what you wanted, wasn't it? To follow in the footsteps of your parents and brother?"

The bells were closer now to the front of her head, warning her that he was at the very least lying to her. Duncan, who would never have lied to her or anyone else, unless he was doing so to protect and save innocents. She wasn't even sure _why_ he was here, it didn't seem right; and with the mention of her family, painful flashes were centering her, bringing her back to terrifying reality. She remembered the smell of smoke, her mother's drawn expression and haunted eyes, the overturned shelves, busted doors; Gilmore's touch, her father's rattling breath and gasped words, Oriana's scream...

"No," She whispered, hearing... feeling everything again like it was that night, and knowing it was causing her eyes to flood with tears. Looking at Duncan, she remembered the sight of him leaping onto the ogre, sinking his blades into the beast's chest, killing it because it had killed 'Good King Cailan'; remembered him perching on his knees and calmly waiting for the Darkspawn to cut him down... "No, it's not that."

"What?" The Duncan imposter was fixing her with that penetrating stare, making her feel exposed, and he took a half-step towards her. A vaguely familiar weariness washed over Ffion with his next words, "This isn't what you wanted? Then tell us. Close your eyes and tell us your deepest desires and we will make them come true. All you need to do... is surrender."

Ffion allowed her eyes to drift shut, thinking of Highever in the summer with the cool sea breezes. The castle would be surrounded by the rich wisteria vines and soft green willows. Marmie's magnolias would be in fine form, infusing the hallways and rooms with their heady perfume. Father's favorite pipe tobacco would be shipped in again and his library would be their evening meeting place. She would sprawl on one of the couches, taking in the vanilla and clove tobacco smells and allowing her hair to hang over the arm so Father could tug on the locks every now and then as he paced by. They would talk about their day and he would chide her gently for some of her more questionable exploits with Fergus or Gilmore. Fergus and Oriana coddling her. Oriana constantly siding with Marmie and trying to turn her into a lady; while in the next breath she would be giggling and teasing with her as though they were little girls again. Fergus, her hero-worshiped big brother teaching her his pranks, sometimes the hard way, and giving her practice tips for the battlefield, always with endless patience. And Rick, who jumped at every opportunity to take Oren to the beach with her and splash and wrestle in the water like they were all kids. Rick and his tender touch at her temple, his commanding voice urging her to run..._ If Howe gets you, he wins... Go, Fi! _

It was like he was there with her again, protecting her from any threat as he used to do; and Ffion's spine stiffened even as terror, cold, gripping and nearly overwhelming pooled into her belly, making her knees weak. Her eyes snapped open and she forcibly pulled her mind from those memories, feeling violated. _Bastards!_ She thought fiercely. They had no right to poke and prod at her deepest desires and she took a step back, determined to stay clear-minded and not fall for their cheap tricks. She glanced around again, noting that two of the look-alike soldiers were inching closer, fixated on her like she was the only thing that mattered. Her hands itched for her blades and with a relief that was near debilitating, she felt the familiar weight of the swords on her back. She met the imposter's gaze and tried to steel herself. Fergus had struggled to teach her to think on her feet and it was only in the past 6 months that he had been really proud of her, and so she called every one of his lessons to the forefront of her mind. The soldier with the bow would have to be her priority and so she turned partially towards him even as she answered,

"Go to hell."

She whirled on the archer, pulling her blades loose and leaping at him before he got the chance to string an arrow. Reacting purely on instinct, she faced the next soldier and parried his thrust with her own sword. She ducked around and behind him, remembering her big brother telling her that everyone would underestimate her small stature. Her second sword dealt a vicious backstab and when that man fell, she was able to focus solely on the Duncan imposter. He had advanced on her while she fought the other two and was a few paces from her when she glanced at him. He threw himself at her and she repeated her tactics, forgetting that her one-time commander had been an experienced rogue. His body twisted about in midair and his blades clashed with hers in a way that made her stagger back, nearly falling to her knees. She slid one blade away and gashed it across the back of his hand, making him curse and weaken enough for her to try to gain the upper hand. Pulling her other blade away suddenly, she darted to the side and used his surprise to her advantage. He hadn't expected her absence and he stumbled forward a couple of steps before whirling about once more.

This time she was ready for him.

She knocked his first thrust away and drove her own blade up and into his belly. The imposter's black eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. Ffion shoved up again and then pushed the body from her, telling herself again and again: _It's not really him, it's not really him._

As soon as the imposter breathed his last, the ground gave a slight rumble and the landscape around Ffion began shimmering like a mirage. She closed her eyes, sinking to her heels, preparing herself for whatever end the Maker had in store for her.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: **I'm a little late, I know, sorry! Have a great Labor Day, all, and all the best!

* * *

There was a sudden soft whine followed by a very wet and familiar tongue across her cheek. With a gasp, Ffion dropped to her knees, her eyes flying open. Tilly was standing before her and wagging her tail so hard that her entire body was shaking. Throwing her arms around the Mabari's neck, she buried her face in the soft fur and let it dry the tears that, until then, she never felt fall.

"Wh-Who are you?" A voice demanded, "Are you another trick?"

Ffion released Tilly abruptly, her hands going for the blades she dropped beside the Mabari. Her grey eyes flashed up to see a dark haired mage standing just a few yards away. His resemblance to Jowan made her start and she had to look closely to make sure it wasn't actually him.

"I might ask you the same question," She answered and heard the breathless quality in her voice.

It was entirely understandable. She was still suffering the effects of that emotional roller-coaster and she relaxed one hand enough to brush the tears from her cheeks. This mage didn't look like a threat and seemed more... real than the Duncan imposter. Ffion was suddenly exhausted and she leaned into Tilly again, easing the hold on her swords, but not putting them away.

"Then you are another poor soul that's been trapped," He replied and moved a little closer. Tilly's tail wagged as he did so and he smiled at the Mabari, "She has been waiting for you and knew that I was no threat."

Ffion frowned at him and then took in her surroundings for the first time. The beautiful fortress was gone and in its place was a barren landscape. There was no vegetation and it was startling after her visions of Highever with the bright warm sunshine, the green of healthy, vibrant growth that was probably dead and burnt now... She was kneeling on a rough dirt path and the formations of earth that towered above were stark against the purple sky. It was a deep, rich purple that extended into black and, as her eyes followed this, she realized with a start that they were on some sort of island suspended in the air. In the distance, she could make out spires and turrets of what had to be a massive city and her frown deepened as she met the mage's gaze again.

"What is this?" She asked and struggled to her feet. Her hand went against Tilly's head and she was thrilled when her fingers connected with the chestnut fur, "Where are we?"

The mage let out a hollow chuckle and allowed his eyes to wander the landscape much as Ffion's had done.

"This... this is our very own personal hell," He replied dryly, "This is the Fade."

Ffion's eyes went wide and she glanced around once more before fixing them on the mage. She parted her lips to answer and it took a moment for the words to come.

"The Fade? But how... Humans don't stay alert and conscious in the Fade. How did this happen?"

He frowned a little and lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

"You don't remember anything before becoming aware of this place?" He questioned and his previous destitution seemed to be put on hold. His eyes were more brown than hazel and his face more deeply lined than Jowan, telling her that he was older than what she originally thought, "That's surprising. Lost dreamers usually have some sort of inkling as to what they were doing, or supposed to be accomplishing."

Ffion thought about that for a moment, letting Tilly lean into her. Her grey eyes went beyond the mage and she tried to remember. What _had_ she been doing?

"I remember the loss at Ostagar, Flemeth's hut, and Lothering. We picked up Leliana and Sten, traveled to Redcliffe," She spoke slowly as each circumstance played out again, "There was the fight to protect the village that night and the next day we went into the castle with Bann Teagan... His nephew was the cause of the trouble... and we were worried about having to execute him. A 10 year old whose only fault was being inexperienced and new to his magic abilities... Not to mention a victim of his mother's misguided attempt to protect him," Realization suddenly struck and her eyes went back to the mage, "The Circle! We set out to ask for assistance with Conner. Jowan told us that the First Enchanter would help in whatever way he could to save the boy and... Carroll met us at the docks, we cut a deal with Greagoir and he agreed to give us time to find the First Enchanter. I remember meeting Wynne and then, when we reached the fourth floor, we ran into one of those... abominations."

"That one was not an abomination," He said, "That was a sloth demon. They have the power to pull mortals into the dream world where they hold them captive as they feed off their life energies."

Ffion blinked at him, still reeling from the memories. She felt like she had lived through everything again and the world was strangely off balance. As the mage spoke of the leeching qualities of the demon, she wondered if this was something he felt first hand.

"So you are... trapped here, too?" She asked, "I mean, you're not another of the illusions, are you?"

"Illusions?" He repeated and then allowed a small smirk, "You must mean the nightmares. No, I'm real enough, for now. My name is Niall."

"Niall? Are you the same one that got the Litany from Owain, then?"

"The one and only," His forlorn expression returned and he glanced dejectedly around the small island they were on, "And in all likelihood the very last of my line. I fell to the same trick that you did and I can feel the life sapping from me. I've tried to leave but every time I think I'm getting somewhere there's another obstacle. I can see the path I need to take but I just can't get to it. For instance, down this path, there's a portal that takes you to the next island and from there a second portal will bring you back here. The only way I have found to leave _that_ place is a hole that only a rodent can fit through."

"Is there a way to fight out of this?" She asked, her mind immediately going to work on the different ways to free herself from the Fade. Her thoughts were that if she could come back to herself in her own separate nightmare, it followed that there _had_ to be some way to get back to the real world.

"There should be," Niall answered, "I think that if you were to make it to each island and defeat the demons that rule them, you could make it to Sloth and kill him as well. All the writings that I have studied speculate the same thing. If you wish to undertake this, I wish you all the luck. Maybe you will discover something I have not."

Ffion's fingers stroked Tilly's head and she glanced down at her faithful hound. The Mabari's brown eyes were looking up at her with adoration and complete devotion and Ffion hated herself for what she was about to do.

"Is it..." She said and then started again, "Can she make it with me? I mean, if I find out how to fit through your mouse hole, will she be left behind?"

"I'm afraid so," Niall replied. He was looking at Tilly as well and then smiled gently at Ffion, "But I plan on staying put for the time being. If you want to leave her with me, I promise to keep her safe... I'm sorry, I missed your name."

Ffion was shamefaced and she was almost giggling as she thought of how out of place this whole introduction seemed. She wondered how the hell everything had been reduced to this and was more acutely aware than ever of how little sleep she had gotten in the past week. She was worn thin and about to collapse and not even her anger at the whole damn mess seemed to help much. But Niall was looking at her expectantly and she was feeling self-conscious so she shrugged it off, with everything else, and extended her hand.

"I'm sorry, I never gave it. My name is Ffion and this is Tilly," She finally answered, "And it would be wonderful if you could keep her. I don't... I've lost too much and I don't want to risk her."

"Then consider it done," Niall replied firmly, "And Maker go with you."

Ffion gave him a single nod and then crouched in front of Tilly again. Holding the Mabari's head in her hands, she spoke quietly,

"Tilly, I want you to stay here with Niall. Keep him safe and I'll come back to get you as soon as I can. Be good, girl," She kissed the hound's head and got to her feet, "Thank you, Niall."

She didn't wait for his response and with a last, longing look at Tilly, she headed down the dirt track. Her Mabari stayed at Niall's feet and Ffion heard the little protesting whine that cut straight to her heart. She resisted the temptation to look back again and instead turned the corner in the track and found the portal that Niall had mentioned. It was a shimmering wall, much like the one Wynne had constructed to protect the children and her fellow mages. This one, however, was a vivid purple, brighter than the sky, and when Ffion went through it, it felt like a cold, wet breeze.

In the blink of an eye, almost as if she had dozed briefly and was jolted awake, she was standing on a similar path but this time it extended in front of her instead of behind. And there, directly before her, was another demon. It was attacking some unseen foe and it was the same flaming shape that Wynne had been battling when they stumbled upon her. Ffion didn't hesitate for a moment, leaping towards the towering figure with drawn blades. The points of the swords slashed towards one another and the demon whirled to face her as Ffion shoved one of the blades up. The demon let out a hiss that sounded like a dying fire and collapsed into the path where it seemed to be swallowed up by the earth.

As soon as it was gone, she could see the thing that it was fighting and was shocked that the little mouse was still alive. She crouched before it, wondering why the hell a demon was attacking a _mouse_ of all things, and then nearly fell over backwards when a voice sounded from it.

"You have... done it," It wheezed, clearly coming to the end of its life, "Maybe you... will be our... redemption... I give you... my power. You do not... need great size... to be great... Good luck... my friend."

The little mouse disappeared much like its murderer did and Ffion felt a strange lightness pass through her. She opened her mouth to ask how she was supposed to _use_ this power, but the mouse was gone and she was left perched on her heels. She glanced around only to see the exact same surroundings as the last island, only this time, around a little bend in the track, there was the small...

_Rodent hole!_ Ffion was suddenly ecstatic as she realized she was getting somewhere and she slid down the rise that separated her from the opening. Staring at the hole and thinking about what the mouse had told her, she felt a little tingling in her spine. Positive it couldn't possibly be this easy, she nevertheless concentrated even harder and had to close her eyes as the ground suddenly rushed up to her and she felt the morphing take place. It wasn't painful, it just felt... odd. Also, she now felt that someone could squish her without much effort and so she took the plunge down the hole before she could loose heart.

There was another quick blink, and she was standing on a third island. Her concentration was immediately broken and she was scrambling back, hurling her knife at one abomination and then meeting the other with her swords at the ready. The path curved away ahead of her and she retrieved her knife, leaving the two demons to fade into the dirt as she made her way around them. There was another vivid portal in front of her and she charged through it. Her heart dropped and she herself almost went to her knees in dismay and frustration when she saw Niall and Tilly standing in the same place that she had left them. But Niall was beaming at her and Tilly overjoyed and she held out hope that all was perhaps not _quite_ lost just yet.

"I – I felt something change," Niall said slowly, "You did something that made the Fade shift. What happened?"

Ffion was scratching Tilly's ears, as happy to see the Mabari as she was to see her.

"I'm not sure how, but I was given the power to become a mouse and -"

She was cut off abruptly as there was a _crack_ like sharp thunder and a delicate, gracefully carved pedestal appeared to Niall's left. It was glowing faintly blue and within the shallow bowl was a shimmering, silver colored dust. The mage clearly understood what this was, but he was still just as shocked as Ffion as they edged closer to inspect it.

"A Fade pedestal," He murmured in awe. Crouching, he studied the runes running up and down the pedestal's support and when he spoke again, his voice was excited, "You did it, you found a way out. This will take you to other parts of the Fade and you should be able to discover more forms to use with each one."

"More forms?" She repeated, "You mean something along the lines of the mouse?"

"Exactly," Niall stood and was suddenly hesitant, "I'm not saying that it will be easy, Ffion. The demons within this place will do what they can to keep us here and though most of our enemies will be ghosts of themselves, they will be plentiful. By ghosts I mean that you could run across humans, mages, Mabari like Tilly, even Darkspawn, but they aren't real, they are summoned by the demons with the hope that you will get discouraged."

Hearing him say 'us' made Ffion remember the others and she stepped closer to the pedestal, looking over the pretty rune-script that made absolutely no sense to her.

"Since Tilly and I are here and aware of what's going on, does that mean my other friends were trapped as well?"

"It is possible," Niall was thinking about that one before he answered her fully, "I don't think you would know for sure unless you defeated the demons on the other... islands."

Ffion looked at the pedestal again and felt her determination pushing the exhaustion from the forefront of her mind. If this was her next task, so be it.

"Alright," She replied quietly, "Tilly, look after Niall... and vice-versa."


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: **Hey, folks, sorry about being late... again. This is my first day off in over a week of working 12 and 13 hour days and after a while of that, you start to lose track of what day you're actually on. Anyway enjoy and take care!

* * *

She took a deep breath and ran her fingers through the shimmering dust. The mirage-like sensation took over once more and when she could focus her eyes again, the Darkspawn taint within her was going wild. It was stronger than it had ever been before and it was almost debilitating. There were none in sight, but that didn't ease her nerves at all and she ventured further into this new location. The surroundings were very different here. There was no dirt track, instead she was walking down a stone hallway. Walls towered up over her head and the various bloodstains and all-too-familiar fleshy sacks left from the Darkspawn were anything but reassuring. She moved slowly, her muscles growing more and more taut, and making her wish that something would just _happen_ so that she could have some sort of release.

Ahead there was a single door and a mouse hole. Not sure she could concentrate hard enough to accomplish morphing, she moved towards the door, only to have the Darkspawn taint whirl even more fiercely through her. Her hands went to the swords hanging at her back and when she noticed that her fingers were trembling, she went for the mouse hole instead. She hated herself for doing so, but the uncertainty killed her. She had yet to fight completely on her own. At home, the soldiers were under strict orders not to hurt her too badly, which drove her nuts, and since the massacre, she had had Duncan; and then it was Alistair and Morrigan, always Tilly, and then they recruited the others. The thought of going into the mass of Darkspawn alone terrified her and she rationalized her movements on the fact that she merely needed a moment.

She slid her swords away and took a deep breath. Allowing her eyes to drift shut, she concentrated hard and the tingling crept slowly up her spine. It wasn't as hard as she originally thought and she darted through the hole before anything could change. To her immense relief, the coast was clear and, though there weren't any doors here, there was another hole down the hall. She scurried towards it, hardly realizing she had stayed in the mouse form.

Indeed, she didn't know it until she was in the next room and there were two Genlocks bearing down on her. She didn't hesitate in pulling her swords loose and dancing between the stubby creatures, taking them down without much trouble. There was a Hurlock standing a few yards away and it had just drawn back its bow when Ffion's knife found its way through the bow string and into its eye. She followed after, pulling the knife free and hurrying into the next room. There were more Darkspawn and Niall was proved right. They were easy to cut down and her fear was soon replaced by a sense of duty, not to mention urgency.

She was through yet another mouse hole and into what she hoped would be the last room here. The taint was making her jumpy and the tension within her was exhausting. She left the mouse form and had to blink at the scene before her. There were a half dozen Darkspawn, none of which realized she was present, they were too busy focused on some sort of vision. It was a wispy form in Templar armor that was fighting any of the Darkspawn that got close.

There was something encouraging in his seemingly hopeless fight and she was hurling her knife at the Genlock that jumped at the spirit's unprotected back. This drew the attention of some of the other creatures and between her and the Templar spirit, they had the room clear in no time. As soon as it was, the spirit turned to her and spoke in a rather echoing voice.

"You did it, you killed them," It said and there was a breathless excitement that Ffion hoped was a good thing, "I can rest now, thanks to you. I give you my power. Use it to travel to the other nightmares and defeat our tormentors."

Like the mouse, this spirit disappeared before she could ask how his power was supposed to work. There was the familiar light feeling and as the Templar faded, another Fade pedestal appeared in the corner of the room. She started towards it and then spotted another set of doors in the corner of the room. _If you make it to each island... defeat the demons that rule them..._ Niall's words were teasing her and she knew that she hadn't gone up against any of the demons yet.

This would have been incredibly discouraging, if she allowed it. Instead she set her focus on the fact that the mouse and spirit and who knew how many others were there to help her. She was drawing on that determination that had always bested the Cousland guards in the practice ring and frustrated Gilmore at every turn in their bets and duals.

When the doors didn't budge as she shoved against them, she resigned herself to waiting and instead moved to the pedestal. It took her back to Niall and Tilly and the Mabari almost knocked her to the ground in her excitement.

"Nothing wrong, I hope?" Niall asked carefully and his frown deepened.

Ffion was sinking to her heels to pet Tilly and her face was pale and drawn, making her look younger than her years. He was worried that she would fall apart before she could succeed here, but her grey eyes flickered a little as she looked at a shimmering wave of air to her right. She was heaving herself back up and squaring her shoulders. Her jaw was set and she shook her head, assuring the mage with her obvious hard-headed determination.

"No," She said shortly.

The shimmering air fascinated her and as she studied it, the tingling started and suddenly a door appeared. Niall's quick intake of breath caused her to look down at herself and see that she had transformed into something that resembled an abomination. The shock nearly blew her concentration but she resolutely took a step to the door and was through it in an instant.

This was another island and down the path ahead of her was a purple form. It had the shape and all the... attributes of a woman, with very little covering them. Two massive horns sprouted from where the eyebrows should have been and curled like a ram's. Its head was pointed and hair was substituted with a pillar of vibrant purple flames; a spiked tail whipped through the air behind it like an angry cat's. It hissed when it spotted Ffion and the Warden didn't even think. She called whatever power her form had and hurled the near tangible energy at the demon. It staggered back, clearly stunned, and Ffion morphed, charging at the thing with her blades singing in the air.

A fierce fight followed, the demon hurling spells her way and trying to recover from the spirit form's spell. It never got a chance, and Ffion's blade was sinking into the demon's stomach with a finality that gave the Warden a little of her hope back. With the demon's death, Ffion was present with Niall again, and this time she didn't pause for conversation as she made for the Fade pedestal.

This next portion was much harder for her. Fires super-heated the air all around her and the Darkspawn filth made her way treacherous. Her body was quickly becoming more exhausted as she went and she had to force herself to press on. Too much depended on her to give up now.

The enemies she was up against were mostly Templars and Chantry people, all of whom were burning with the same ferocity of the fires that spanned the doorways here and there. Ffion had no trouble fighting them, but she hated herself a little more each time she had to cut down a Mabari, all of which were near identical to Tilly. From the color of their coats, down to the way one ear tip dropped a little, they were all exactly the same and she killed them as quickly and painlessly as she could. With the fires across the doorways, the Fade was directing her where it wanted her to go and she didn't have any say in it whatsoever.

Her only bright spot was that this was a shorter jaunt than the others. Soon she was stumbling into a room where she was confronted by a burning man in Templar armor fighting abominations that were bearing down on him. Not that it surprised her much. At this point, she didn't think she'd even bat an eye if she came up on Alistair leading a troop of men dancing the Remigold... While wearing a dress.

Once more, she helped take care of the foes here and went through the almost ritualistic practice of the dreamer passing on his power to her. The Fade pedestal came next and Ffion's only surprise was that she wasn't taken back to Niall and Tilly. Instead she was in another section of this... utter nightmare.

This one resembled the Tower itself so closely she thought for one moment, with a leaping heart, that she had expedited procedures here. But then she could hear faint arguments coming from behind the door ahead of her. There were two mages on the verge of all-out-fighting and instantly their attention was on her. Ffion reacted just as quickly. She ducked under the spells that were fired at her and staggered one mage with her knife while charging the other. They almost collided and Ffion swung her blade at the last minute. That mage went down and she ducked, rolling across the stone floor as the other regained enough composure to attack again. He was weakened though and when she flung herself at him, he went down without much of a fight.

The other aspects of this island went smoothly until she reached one of the last rooms. It was about the size of Highever's kitchen and as she was bypassing two hearths, heading for the door, two flaming abominations pulled themselves from the floor. They seemed to struggle up from the underworld itself and Ffion felt her anger rise in much the same way. She was pissed off with everything and these two were her only targets. She didn't even feel herself morph and truly didn't notice it until the power erupted from her. The demons sank back into the floor and when the next two popped up, they didn't fare much better.

She glanced down at her body and saw that she had taken on the form of a burning... abomination, she guessed. Keeping it intact, she opened the door that was immediately to her right. A line of fire sprang up in the doorway that had no effect on her, but the shouts that went up made her take a couple of steps back into the room. She decided these enemies would be easier to deal with one at a time as they came through the door and they obliged her. It was iffy at first, but she dispatched them using the burning man form and then slipped through the flames into the next room. There were only a few stragglers and they were taken care of without much trouble.

There was only one other door and though Ffion still kept her current form, she didn't need it. There were no flames here but she stopped in the doorway anyway, dismayed by what she saw. A half dozen mages were gathered here and, judging from the soft conversations, it was clearly a group of students learning from their teacher. She watched them unnoticed, wondering how the hell she was going to do this, until the teacher spotted her.

"Demon!" He shouted.

The others were immediately scrambling for the staffs and starting at her and Ffion stumbled back, not in the least bit prepared for this. She was desperately trying to pull the burning man's power to her when there was an explosion within the room itself that shook the entire place. Ffion was knocked roughly to the floor, banging her head hard enough that she saw stars. Her ears were ringing and she couldn't muster the strength to sit up just yet. The mages hadn't surrounded her and she wondered why the hell their teacher would cast a spell that would destroy his pupils.

A burst of energy shot off the ground next to her head, singeing her cheek and chipping the stone. Realizing she wasn't in the burning form anymore, she gathered herself, rolling across the floor as another spell shot over her. She settled into a crouch and flung one of her knives at the form that was standing in the center of the next room. The mage dropped to the ground with that oddly satisfying gurgle that told her her aim was as true as ever. Ffion stayed in her crouch, waiting for any other spells.

When there was nothing, she almost sat down on the floor to catch her breath and wait for the pounding in her head to stop. But that little persistent voice wouldn't let her and it was her mother's firm command. _If you stop now, you'll never finish. The others need you._

"All right, Marmie, let's get going, then."

She was startled to hear herself speak aloud and wondered how severe a sign this was that the Fade was starting to drive her mad. She was talking to her dead mother and found herself capable of powers only a mage should hold. If she tarried much longer, she'd lose it completely; Tilly, Alistair, Wynne, and Leliana would be forever trapped here; Conner wouldn't get the help he needed; the Circle would be destroyed; the bastard Howe would get away with a massacre... that is until the Blight overwhelmed everything and decimated her homeland. Her next thought was that the Fade wanted her to believe these things, wanted to wear her down and create this discouragement in her heart and she shook herself. She pressed everything to the back of her mind and went through the doorway.

There were two doors here. One led up a short flight of steps that was identical to the Circle and the other was straight ahead and down a few steps. She wasn't sure which one was the correct path and when she heard the faint sounds of fighting through the lower door, her mind was made up for her. Hurrying down the steps and through the door, she suddenly had the strongest desire to go back to the big room and screw everything and lay down like she wanted.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: **Early, whoo-hoo! Enjoy!

* * *

Within this room was a fourth dreamer, a Circle mage, fighting a Chantry sister and two Golems that were following her every direction. The mage was losing, but Ffion couldn't help but stare at the monstrous Golems. She had never seen one in the flesh... or rather the stone before. They would have towered over Sten and were every bit as impregnable as they looked. Nevermind their pieced-together appearance, either. Her initial response was helplessness and then she figured that one of the spirit forms simply _had_ to help.

The mouse was laughable and she wasn't sure that the burning man had enough power to make a difference. So, as the mage let out a cry of pain, she transformed into the spirit abomination. She wasn't sure how to use the correct power here, but she felt it course through her anyway. The breath of both the sister and the mage were sudden puffs of white and then the woman was frozen completely. One of the Golems sluggishly continued after the mage while the other turned to Ffion. The spirit's power surged again and the creature stumbled to its knees, little cracks appearing in its facade, before crumbling to pebbles and dust.

She lost the form then but it didn't matter. The sister was falling to the floor, dead, and the mage blasted the remaining Golem with fire. It weakened the creature's make-up and when the string of boulders smashed into it, the Golem slumped to the ground with a rumble like thunder.

"You are doing well, my friend," The mage told her with a wan smile, "Your tasks are nearly done. I give you my strength. Use it to go through this door. You will find the demon that rules here: Slavren. Kill him, for all the dreamers he has trapped in this nightmare."

He faded and Ffion felt a prick of excitement that seemed out of place. She wondered if that meant what she hoped and studied one of the Golems with concentration. Sure enough, she found herself morphing into the hulking, intimidating shape. It felt just as invulnerable as it looked and she turned her attention to the door the mage had indicated. It was massive, locked tight against her, and so she grabbed a portion of the dead Golem and hurled it at the door. It burst apart with a very satisfying crash and startled the demon residing there.

It was an abomination that was dwarfed by Ffion's Golem form. Slavren recovered quickly from his surprise and as he got ready to fling magic at her, she slammed both fists into the floor. He was knocked off balance again and she wasn't about to wait until he got his bearings. She charged at him, but as soon as they collided, she was human again and a full on tackle was turning out to be a bad idea. Slavren's armor was hard and sharp and what skin wasn't protected by her own duster leather was stuck like a pin cushion. She fumbled for one of her knives and, in a flash, it went from her hand to Slavren's neck and the demon dropped.

She barely had time to retrieve the knife before she found herself in the same room where she'd acquired the spirit abomination's form. It hadn't taken a Fade pedestal or an obvious spell; it was like she had blinked and everything changed. The door ahead was locked tight and this time her Golem merely reached down and yanked one of the stone slabs up from the floor. It sailed through the doors and she saw with pleasure that it also crushed four Darkspawn in the process. There was another set of four that charged her, but with the Golem's rock shell, their attacks were more annoying than harmful. She tossed one against the stone wall, sent another flying away from her with a smack to the chest, and the last two were grabbed by the backs of their heads and smashed together.

The rest of the huge room was clear, other than the filth and grime left by the Darkspawn, and there was only one other door. It was straight across from Ffion and she didn't bother with altering her form as she started towards it. The taint within her told her that there were more behind this door, but nothing prepared her for what came next.

The faint stomping steps that she had assumed were echoes of her own suddenly sped up and the door burst out towards her. Dust and debris flew everywhere, clouding her vision, and so she only got the briefest glimpse of the massive ogre before they collided. The impact sent them both crashing to the floor and Ffion was alarmed to hear a sickening _crack_ of stone. She wasn't sure if it was her Golem or the floor and she was morphing back before she quite realized it.

She rolled free of the ogre and then ducked between his legs, slashing both swords across his hamstrings. An awful sense of foreboding swept through her as the ogre let out a bellow of pain. The only other, considerably smaller, ogre that she had gone up against was a hell of a fight and that had been with three other people, plus Tilly. The odds were well in favor of her dying here.

Repeating the dive between the monster's legs, Ffion knew she had to rethink her strategy. Her advantage of being smaller and quicker would only last until the ogre got so pissed off he simply squished her under one huge foot. She still had the other forms at her disposal, the only trick was that she needed to be able to concentrate to morph. And having a 15 foot ogre trying to kill you was _not_ conducive to good concentration.

She was backing up towards the wall, stabbing the monster's fingers every time he made a grab for her. One of her boots skidded on a layer of heavy, gritty sand and an idea popped into her head.

The ogre was tired of her short, painful jabs and frustrated that she was so much quicker than he was. He took a couple of steps back and lowered his head, preparing to charge her, which was exactly what Ffion wanted. She danced out of the way, crouching low to grab a handful of the sand. The ogre's head cracked sharply off the wall, causing a spiderweb pattern of breaks to appear there and instantly turned towards her. He didn't seem the least bit phased by the failed charge, and then she threw the sand into his eyes.

The monster was momentarily blinded, making wild grabs for her but she had already morphed into the mouse. She leaped onto his arm as he swung and dug her tiny claws into his flesh. Scurrying up to his shoulder, she was human again and pulling her red steel blade loose before the ogre figured out what she was doing. His hand came up to knock her off and she plunged the sword into the curve of his neck. She tried to jump free and was smacked as one of the ogre's arms thrashed out in the beginning of his death throes.

Ffion couldn't catch herself and landed hard on her back on the stone floor. Her breath went out of her lungs and she choked a little, lying still and wondering if this was how she was going to die. Sure, she had succeeded in fatally wounding the monster, but who knew what damage had been done to her. She was listening to the ogre's staggering footsteps as she tried to catch her breath again and it took her a moment to realize that they were coming closer to her. Groaning in protest, she gingerly rolled up to her heels, coughing as she did so and pulled one of the knives she had stowed in her boot. She was watching the ogre warily but not thinking of how she was going to take the thing down _now_. Instead she was thinking back on Gilmore's laughing astonishment at her penchant for arming herself to the teeth. _Andraste's knickers, Fi! Now wonder the men are terrified of getting too close to you. Every angle on you is sharp!_

The ogre staggered another two steps, snarling at her. He collapsed to his knees and with a last gasping breath, fell forward and went still. Ffion wanted to sit down and wait to catch her breath fully, but the mirage-shimmering was starting and there was no way she was going to leave that shortsword behind. She hurried as best she could and yanked the sword free. As soon as she did so, she was in yet another portion of the Fade. The sword weighed her wrist down in a way it hadn't since she picked up a wooden practice sword at age four. Her body ached so that it felt like one big bruise and she knew if she laid on the floor, she could sleep for the next few days.

Glancing around at the packed dirt floor and seeing only one door and two mouse holes, she thought of how nice it would be to sit for a moment, just a moment, and rest. She could put her back to the wall and still watch the door for any enemies and just rest long enough to recover some of her strength. She wiped the ogre's blood from the red steel and slid it over her shoulder, into its scabbard, where it belonged. Taking a few steps towards the wall, that delicious weariness coming over her again, she was startled by another voice in her head. It was so unexpected and almost tangible that she was looking around in a wild sort of hope.

_Don't give in, Pup._ Her father's voice was far away and rather dim, but with her insatiable desire hear more, it seemed to comply. _Not now, love. You're so close. Don't give up yet._

Ffion desperately wanted to hear more, but now that it had done its job, Bryce's voice was gone. She steeled her resolve, making sure that her prized knives were within easy reach, and then trudged to one of the mouse holes. She wasn't sure why she chose this path and nevertheless morphed and went through. Instantly she froze, barely keeping the form contained.

The mouse hole opened again beside a bookshelf and on the other side was another ogre. Anger flashed through Ffion on a tide of such deep frustration, she almost morphed again. This was beyond the last straw and she darted over the bottom shelf of the bookcase. Taking inspiration from her previous fights, she tore up the leg of the monster. By the time he realized what was going on, Ffion was herself and slashing one of her knives across his neck. This time she jumped completely clear and didn't wait to watch him die.

Through another door and a few more mouse holes, there was an abomination accompanied by two undead that reminded her sharply of Redcliffe. That reminder was what she needed. They were doing this for the village's safety, the preservation of the Circle, and for Conner, the little boy that was so much like Oren...

With that fresh in her mind, she charged through the last door and morphed into the spirit abomination without hesitation. The demon ahead of her was another that was shaped like a woman and this fight was one of the easier ones. Even with that, as she was sent to the fire consumed areas once more, she could feel that familiar shaking weakness in her limbs. It was something she hadn't been through since her first years of training in Highever and she didn't allow herself much time to dwell on it. She was just hoping, _praying_, that this would be the last island.

She reached the demon, another flaming abomination, and knew she was running on reserves. Even so, she morphed into the spirit, freezing the demon, and then leaping at it with swords at the ready. She easily lopped the head from the abomination and when her surroundings changed yet again, she fell to her knees. Her swords dropped to the ground beside her and her breath came erratically. She wanted nothing more than to fall back on the dirt and close her eyes.

On the verge of just that, her senses alerted and her eyes opened wide when she heard the murmur of a familiar voice.

"Leliana?" She questioned, slowly getting back to her feet and sliding the swords away.

Wincing with every move and wiping at the little trickle of blood whose path down her temple was annoying, she took stock of where she was. It was a lot like where she had found Niall and then, hearing Leliana's voice again, she pressed on. Around a bend in the track, she came up on the little Orlesian. She was kneeling by an elderly woman garbed in Chantry robes and was murmuring her prayers aloud.

Ffion approached carefully. The whole scene was off and she felt chills race down her spine when the revered mother looked her way. It was like the farce with the Duncan imposter and Weisshaupt and she fixed her attention on Leliana. The Orlesian was going to have to realize where she was and what was happening on her own. Ffion got the feeling that if she forced the issue here, something bad might happen.

"Please, do not disturb the girl," The faux mother said, "She needs to find her peace."

Ffion ignored her, keeping her eyes on Leliana.

"Leliana, do you remember where you are?" She asked and her voice was firm.

The Orlesian lifted her head and blinked up at Ffion. Her usually lively blue eyes were sad and there wasn't even the flicker of recognition as she looked at the Warden. Getting to her feet and creasing her forehead in a frown, she glanced at the revered mother.

"Reverence, who is this?" She asked and her tone was such that she didn't seem to think Ffion could hear her, "Should I know this woman?"

"I cannot answer that, my dear, but if you do not recognize her, don't worry yourself," The mother's eyes went to Ffion briefly and the Warden got chills again, "Go back to your prayers, submit yourself to the Maker, and I will take care of this."

As the Orlesian turned with a nod, Ffion took the chance. She stepped forward, still trying to ignore the faux mother's cold anger and colder eyes, and spoke to her friend once more.

"Leliana, do you remember telling me that the Maker wanted you to help with the Blight? You told me he came to you in a vision and-"

"How do you know that?" Leliana breathed, whirling to face her, "I haven't told anyone out of the Chantry about that... I don't think. Where did you say you were from?"

The Warden saw the power on Leliana beginning to loosen and pushed more relentlessly.

"You were working at the Chantry in Lothering, helping the people there, and that was where we met," She spoke slowly, acutely aware of the mother creeping closer to them, "You told me the Maker meant for you to help us."

"Leliana, we've discussed this," The revered mother commented in an exasperated sort of voice, "There was no vision, that was a dream."

Ffion was encouraged by the fact that Leliana hadn't looked away from her and she smiled a little at the Orlesian.

"I believe you, Leliana," She said softly, trying to undo whatever influence, and damage, this demon had already caused, "I know you wouldn't lie to me."

"Leliana-"

"No," The Orlesian's voice was soft, insistent, "You're wrong, reverence. My vision meant something and this woman speaks the truth. I was meant to help against the Blight. The Maker _did_ come to me and I will do all I can to fulfill his wish."

The revered mother's face was ugly in its fury. Her once kind hazel eyes were livid and her mouth contorted into a grimace. Ffion involuntarily took a step back while Leliana inched forward, her hands going for the bow at her back.

"Worthless bitch," The faux mother snapped, her voice deepening and showing her true colors at last, "She is ours and I will not let you have her without a fight."

"Brilliant," Leliana muttered.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: **Thanks to all who are reading, you guys are great! All the best, catalina

* * *

The fight that followed was fierce, but quick. The faux mother became the demon that Ffion knew she was and Leliana was more willing than ever to take her down as soon as the deception was made clear. The demon went down and the Orlesian slid her bow away again. She looked at Ffion, still rather baffled as to who she was, but willing to listen.

"I... I think I remember now," She was speaking slowly, rubbing at one temple, "It's faint, but I believe it is coming back to me... Ffion, yes? Thank you."

Ffion's exhaustion didn't prevent the elated smile from crossing her features. It was a heady thing to know that she wasn't alone here anymore and the relief was so thick it was tangible.

"We need to find the others and see if we can get out of here," She replied and moved beyond the Orlesian to head down the path, "There should be-"

"Wait, where are you going?" Leliana demanded, fear obvious in her voice.

Ffion turned back and saw with alarm that the familiar shimmering was coming over Leliana. She was instantly put on the defensive, wondering with a sinking heart if this was just another illusion. Niall's hopelessness was a little more understood and Ffion almost felt like crying. She thought she'd been done! Her hand went to one of the knives, watching the Orlesian warily, waiting for her to become the demon.

But it didn't happen.

Instead the Orlesian simply disappeared. Behind Ffion, a Fade pedestal popped up with a sharp thunder-like clap and she hesitated. Somehow she knew Leliana was gone from this island for sure, but she hated the idea of leaving alone. _Well, it won't do you any good to linger here_. The little voice told her and she reluctantly agreed.

She used the pedestal and found herself on another barren island. There was a mage standing at the edge of a small rise, apparently looking at the view. Scattered around her were a few bodies of mages that didn't look to be much older than Ffion herself. As the Warden walked down the path, a small scattering of stones preceded her, startling the mage. Her face lifted from her hands and Wynne's blue eyes were looking at Ffion with such accusation, the Warden was alarmed.

"Wynne," She said softly, hoping the Enchanter would recognize her more readily than Leliana. Magic was harder to defend against and, in the same way she had known the Orlesian was gone, she knew that her spirit forms were also gone, "What happened?"

"I couldn't save them," Wynne replied, her voice trembling, "I was too late... They didn't stand a chance. This was my fault."

Ffion looked around at the island and felt her anger start up again. This was a low blow, to attack the Enchanter in this way, and she made the decision to be a little more brutal. Wynne would understand the Fade better than Leliana and of course, she knew more about the way demons worked than any of them.

"Wynne, they're not real," Her voice was firm and uncompromising, "None of this is real."

"Not real? Look around you. They're all dead, how can you say that it isn't real?" The Enchanter waved one hand to encompass the whole and then turned on Ffion, "And where were you during all of this? You promised to help and in the time of our greatest need, you are nowhere to be found. You are as much to blame for this massacre as anyone."

"Open your eyes," Ffion's tongue was ruling now and discretion be damned, "You're not in the Circle, Wynne, we've been trapped within the Fade. I haven't left your side since we tried to make it through that hellhole that was your home. You have to remember the demon, falling asleep, and waking up to this nightmare. Damn it, I came out of it on my own, why can't you?"

"The demon?" Wynne blinked and shook her head, "What do you mean, trapped in the Fade? That's not... oh, Maker! You're right... Ffion, Alistair and... Leliana... Maker!"

Ffion's anger wasn't eased yet and she crossed her arms over her chest, looking at Wynne coolly.

"Glad to see a change of heart. Can we get out of here now?"

"Enchanter, no, you can't leave us," A breathy voice broke in and one of the dead mages was getting up, "Please, you're the only one that can help."

Wynne's staff was in her hands and she glared at the young man standing before her.

"Be gone, demon, you can't have me."

Without a word, the mage attacked. Wynne threw her shield up and Ffion faced the other mages that had stood as well. Her blades were flipped back into her palms and she dove at them. They weren't expecting this sudden, physical, altercation and by the time the Warden was looking at Wynne again, they were alone.

"I'm sorry, Ffion," The Enchanter was ashamed of her previous accusations and she smiled gently at Ffion. The young woman was exhausted, deep shadows were smudged underneath usually bright grey eyes and it was clear she was barely hanging on, "I should have known. You wouldn't abandon anyone, not if it was within your power to prevent it. I had no – wait, Ffion? Where are you going?"

Wynne disappeared in the same instant that a Fade pedestal popped up and, this time, Ffion didn't hesitate.

"Alright, Alistair," She muttered, running her fingers through the pedestal's contents and thinking for the first time it might have been worth it to allow the Right of Annulment, "What do you have?"

She found the ex-Templar and instantly felt guilty about that thought. He was beaming at her, his honey colored eyes happier than she'd ever seen them, and she knew she couldn't have betrayed his trust in her like that.

"There you are!" He exclaimed jovially, interrupting her thoughts, "That's so weird. I was just thinking of you and here you are."

Ffion was about to answer when two young children darted from around a bend and then disappeared up the path. A woman was following. She was maybe seven or eight years older than Alistair and had his hair coloring and eye shape. It was such a striking resemblance and judging from the ages of the children, Ffion knew this was most likely supposed to be Alistair's...

"Oh, Ffion, I want you to meet my sister, or well, half-sister, Goldanna," The ex-Templar's voice was cutting through her train of thought again, answering her unasked question, "Goldanna, this is my good friend, Ffion."

"Well, invite her to supper and then go wash up. The children just went to fetch some fresh water," Goldanna's voice was cheery and pleasant, "You're welcome to stay, my dear."

Ffion was watching Alistair's face and saw with a sinking heart that this was going to be much more difficult than Leliana and Wynne. The ex-Templar badly wanted this to be real and damn anyone who tried to convince him otherwise.

"Alistair, I need to speak with you," She said and then glanced at Goldanna, "Privately, if it's no trouble."

"Don't wait too long," Goldanna replied, "Supper will be getting cold."

Alistair was looking at Ffion expectantly. His eyes were clear but it was quite obvious he was too enthralled to sense the danger. She sighed and rubbed at her forehead before going on.

"Do you remember how you met her?" She questioned, trying to tread carefully while showing him his misstep in the same instant.

"Of course," He answered promptly, like it was some sort of quiz whose answers he'd memorized, "I was walking down the street here, not paying any attention to where I was going, and nearly knocked the laundry basket from her hands. Sounds like me, doesn't it? Anyway, she recognized me and told me that I was her half-brother. We have the same mother."

Ffion bit her lip, hating to hurt him. Her grey eyes flickered to his faux-sister, knowing she was listening closely, and she switched tactics.

"Where do you think we are?"

"In Redcliffe, of course," Again the answer was automatic, but Ffion's disbelieving look seemed to have the desired effect on him and for the first time, he was unsure, "Or... it is, isn't it? Where else would we be? But wait... that doesn't quite make sense, does it? I was raised in Redcliffe and I wasn't ever told about a sister; half or otherwise."

"Yeah, you'd think someone would blab, wouldn't you?" Her voice was pitying, frustrated, and she didn't try to check it. Grey eyes meeting honey, she went on, "Do you remember the Circle Tower, Alistair? Wynne, Greagoir, and the other mages? Do you remember agreeing to help Conner?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Goldanna edge even closer and one of her hands went to the knives in her belt of its own accord. Alistair was looking at her in the same baffled sort of way that Leliana had; kind of like he was a child being scolded for something he didn't do. Ffion was tired beyond belief and in no mood to coddle him anymore. She opened her mouth to continue, but he interrupted her.

"I... I don't..." He was speaking slowly, shaking his head a little as he tried to think back, "Well, I think I... oh, shit! The Tower... Teagan!... We promised to help, didn't we?... Maker's breath! What the hell... Then who's she? And the children?"

"I'm your sister, silly," Goldanna chided and her voice was sharp, too sharp to be pleasant, "What do you think me to be?"

Ffion stepped closer, laying one hand on the ex-Templar's arm. She was forcing him to look down at her, not at his faux-sister, and she hoped this was enough to protect him from the demon's snare.

"Alistair, we have to get out of here," She said, "If we don't, your uncle doesn't stand a chance."

Goldanna's 'children' had returned and were watching them with fiery eyes while she started forward, her expression hardening.

"No," She said harshly and then tried to control her voice, "I lost him once, you cannot take him from us again."

Alistair was just as surprised by this as Ffion thought he'd be, but he didn't hesitate in helping her out as she turned on one of the 'children' that had been sneaking ever closer. They became the undead quite suddenly and the fight was over before it had started. Alistair had just enough time to say her name questioningly before he disappeared and this time there was no Fade pedestal that popped up for her to use.

Instead, she found herself on a fourth barren island, alone, until she spotted the demon that was waiting for her further down the path. It was the same abomination that had trapped her in this hellhole and she slowed, reaching for her blades. He made no move to attack her though,and she stopped several yards away, watching him warily.

"So," He said softly and the weariness poured from him, tugging at Ffion in a way that was near impossible to resist, "_So._"

"Oh, there you are," Alistair's voice startled her and she nearly flung her knife at him in her fright. He successfully broke the demon's spell, "You just disappeared and-"

"So tedious," The demon was returning the ex-Templar's favor of interrupting him, "Why can you not be happy? I have given you what you wanted and yet you scorn me, throwing my gifts back in my face."

"Don't!" Ffion's anger finally found its outlet and she gave it free reign, "I am so _damn_ tired of you bastards jerking me one way and then the next and I mean to put a stop to it now. So save your strength, you're going to need it."

She hadn't even considered the possibility that the others might not agree with this and if they hadn't... well, it would've sent her over the edge completely. But luckily, Wynne was stepping up to stand at her shoulder.

"She's right," The Enchanter added, "We found each other in spite of what you were trying to accomplish and you won't separate us again."

"So be it," The demon sighed, "If you want death, it is what you will receive."

He transformed quite suddenly into a towering ogre and Ffion was cursing underneath her breath, rolling between his legs and slashing her blades across his Achilles. Alistair was driving against him, trying to keep him on the defensive while Wynne looked out for everyone. It was Leliana that took the monster down, though. One of her green fletched arrows sank into the ogre's eye and he dropped.

As soon as he did, though, the body disappeared in a painfully bright flash of white light and in its place was a flaming abomination. This time it was Alistair that knocked it senseless with his shield and then lopped the head from it. Next came the abomination form that Ffion's knife dispatched and they all took out the next one that kept diving at them like an oversized raven. The final form was one that looked exactly like Ffion's spirit abomination and she would have given anything to be able to use it one last time. Especially when the thing cast a spell like a small explosion. They were all flung from him and Ffion had the worse luck. She tumbled down, cracking the back of her head off a rock. Everything went black and when her eyes blinked open a moment later, it was to meet the elated gaze of Tilly and put her hands up just in time to avoid the Mabari's wet tongue. Niall was crouching beside her and she could feel Wynne's healing spell again. She was reluctantly sitting up, letting out a groan and wishing she could have just closed her eyes and slept.

"You, my friend, are one amazing young woman," Niall told her, one hand going to her shoulder to help her sit upright, "Congratulations, you've won."

"Not sure if I feel like celebrating," She replied dryly, rubbing the back of her head and wincing as her fingers hit the beginnings of a substantial goose egg.

The mage was chuckling softly, but still looked forlorn.

"I suppose you're right," He agreed, "And besides, you're not quite done yet. You still have to face Uldred."

Ffion got unsteadily to her feet, using Tilly's body as a crutch of sorts. Her fingers were deep in the thick chestnut fur and she looked at Niall as though she was wishing he was joking.

"Thanks for the reminder," She said, "Shouldn't we be getting out of here now?"

"I can send you back," Niall's face grew longer, "When I do, take the Litany from my... from my body. You will need it to defend against whatever Uldred has planned."

Leliana was frowning at him, knocking a lock of copper colored hair from her eyes and slinging her bow back over her shoulder.

"Don't be silly," She told him, once more her usual, optimistic self, "We won't leave you here."

Niall stood, glancing around the barren island. His brown eyes were sad and his face grew longer. When he looked at them again, he seemed resigned to whatever was going to come next.

"I am a dead man already, I'm afraid," He said slowly, "I have been trapped here with the demon feeding off of me for far too long. Even if I did survive the trip back to the real world, I wouldn't live for long. I can't return with you."

Ffion felt a wave of sadness sweep through her. She studied Niall closely, noting that he seemed to shimmer a little in a way that she recognized. If she wasn't so exhausted, she'd be pissed off again. Here she had gone through all of the hoops, killing the demons, and not pausing for rest so that she could save them, and Niall was telling her in no uncertain terms that he _couldn't_ be saved. Without the strength for anger, she felt like she was sad enough to start crying.

"Surely there's something we can do?" She questioned softly, burrowing her fingers further into Tilly's fur, "Niall, we can't just-"

"You're the hero, Ffion," He interrupted and stepped back so that he could cast the spell over all of them, "I tried and wasn't successful. It seems I wasn't meant to survive this."

"We won't let you be forgotten, Niall," Wynne cut in gently, "You helped Ffion accomplish this and you will be remembered."

Niall smiled wanly, his hands cupping and a bright blue light seemed to focus there. He nodded to Wynne and then met Ffion's gaze.

"Remember the Litany and good luck, my friend."


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: **Hey, all! Sorry I'm a little late. It's been a very long couple of weeks, but here we are and enjoy!

* * *

The bright light enveloped them and in a blink, they were standing back in the circular Tower room. There was a _whump_ as the abomination's body hit the ground, going still next to Niall's. Ffion stared down at both and felt more tired than ever. She wanted this to be _done_, she didn't want to fight Uldred, didn't want to deal with anymore abominations and she was ready to scream... or start crying uncontrollably. She wasn't sure which one was going to come first. It felt as though she had been up and fighting for days, though it was clear the time had passed very differently in the Fade. It had been just moments before that the demon trapped them and the Warden was too tired to be impressed by this.

"Ffion?"

Alistair was questioning, not seeing the play of emotions on her face. Leliana, however, who was watching the young Warden with a knowing gleam in her pale blue eyes, stepped forward and bent over Niall's body. She rifled through the robe's pockets and finally pulled the scroll from one of them. Turning back to the group, she held this up.

"Let's finish this," She commented and her eyes were bright.

Wynne was pulling a potion bottle from her belt and she held it out to Ffion. The Warden glanced up at her, frowning in confusion.

"This will help a little," The Enchanter explained, "Leliana's right, we have to see this through."

Ffion downed the potion and felt a little of her strength return. She shifted her belt and then the blades at her back and nodded to the scroll in the Orlesian's hands.

"How does that work?" She asked, "I don't quite understand what Niall meant. I remember you saying that it fights blood magic, but how?"

"I will use it," Wynne answered and accepted the scroll from Leliana, "If Uldred is trying to turn the mages, I will be able to recognize when he uses his power. The magic within this scroll will be more powerful than his and as long as it's used in time, it will stymie him no matter what."

"It's time to teach the bastard a lesson, then," Alistair's voice was determined and his honey colored eyes were hard.

They were banded together once more and Ffion was thrilled to see Tilly at her side where she belonged. Wynne led the way to the next floor and into a foyer-type room. There, a few of the bookshelves were still standing upright and they pressed on, stepping over toppled chairs and overturned tables. Books, scrolls, and loose papers were scattered everywhere; a tipped lamp here and there had scorched the rich rugs and left black smudges on the stone floor. Ahead of them was another door and they had just about reached it when they heard the voice.

"Wynne?" It was a young woman's voice and there was a shuffling from a deeply shadowed corner of the room just to their left, "Is it really you?"

A mage about Ffion's age stepped from the corner, sheltering four small children behind her. She was grim, her face was dirty and smudged with dust from hiding, but that did nothing to conceal her beauty. She was delicately featured with a slim nose and full lips, her cheekbones were more pronounced with the determined set of her jaw and her green eyes were large, serious, and very intelligent. Her pale blonde hair kept falling forward into her eyes as it slipped from a once elegant twist and small, graceful hands gripped her staff tightly.

"Thank the Maker," She murmured as she saw Wynne more fully. The children responded to the relief in her voice and edged closer, not wanting to let their protector too far from their reach, "This has been awful."

It was then that the others could see she had been hiding the young ones in a large wardrobe. She must have been in the middle of seeing if the coast was clear when Ffion's band came along.

"Solona?" Wynne said finally, getting over her surprise and easing the hold on her staff, "My dear, what on earth are you doing up here?"

Solona swept a hand back towards the children and one of the little girls darted to take hold of her. The others were encouraged by this and they were all crowding around the mage. She placed the base of her staff on the ground so she could lean on it.

"It was my day to tutor and, well, you know how I like to teach," A ghost of smile creased her tired face, though her voice was as exhausted as Ffion felt, "We were in the middle of our treasure hunt when the commotion started. I just had time to hide them and I watched while Uldred and a few other mages took the First Enchanter through those doors. I think they were headed for the Harrowing chamber, but I didn't want to risk these ones to... whatever was coming next. Wynne, what's going on? No one has come out yet and I swear I could hear... screams."

The little girl whimpered, responding to the fear in Solona's voice just as she responded to the relief. The young mage didn't let this stop her protective watch over the children and she extricated her fingers from the girl's and rubbed her back soothingly. Her green eyes didn't leave Wynne though.

"From what I have seen and what Pila told us, Uldred is attempting to take over the Tower," The Enchanter was talking carefully, clearly not sure how much she should reveal, "There's a lot to tell us he was using blood magic... and he possibly could be possessed."

Solona looked stricken and her hand squeezed briefly at the girl's shoulder when they shook with silent sobs. For as young as the girl was, she understood fully what those words meant and Solona tried to comfort her.

"Hush, Mina, I won't let anyone harm you," She said and then looked back at Wynne, "Blood magic... again? I was hoping... after what happened with Jowan and Lily that... Oh, what a mess!"

"Jowan?" Ffion asked, her surprise getting the better of her, "You're the Solona that... Jowan's friend?"

"Yes, well, I was," Solona frowned, "Wait, how do you know Jowan? I thought he disappeared for good."

"Blood mages never go away," Alistair muttered.

"We don't have time for this," Leliana cut in, not wanting the ex-Templar to flaunt his prejudices now. She happened to agree with him, to an extent, but now was neither the time nor place to argue the virtues and vices of magic use, "Who knows what damage has been done already."

The others were readily agreeing with this and Solona looked torn. She was glancing between the children behind her and Wynne, and her lips parted.

"They need you more right now, my dear," The Enchanter said quietly, gently. She read Solona's face with ease and was hoping to put a quick stop to her train of thinking, "You are doing the right thing, protecting them."

"But if you're facing blood magic, you'll need all the help you can get," Solona argued. Her hand reached down and grasped Mina's, "Mina, love, I want you to go and hide in the cupboard again. Keep the others safe and calm; I'll come and get you as soon as I can and we'll finish our treasure hunt."

"Solona-"

"Can you promise me that?"

Solona was bent before the little girl, looking her directly in the eyes and it reminded Ffion so much of herself and Oren that she changed tactics and didn't interrupt again.

"Yeah, of course I can," Mina answered and they could practically see the magic dancing from her fingertips, "But is it wrong to do my magic when you're not here?"

"No, love," Solona answered, shaking her head, "No. When you're protecting those who can't take care of themselves, when you're protecting yourself, it's magic you have to use. Don't be afraid, Mina, just take care of them."

"I will, Sol, I promise," Mina said solemnly, acting much older than she looked.

Solona brushed the girl's vibrant red hair back with one hand and then kissed her forehead.

"Good girl," She straightened and looked at the others, "Listen to Mina and don't open the door to that cupboard unless you hear my voice or the Senior Enchanter's. You understand? Good, now go on. And be careful."

She waited until the cupboard was shut tight and all was quiet. Taking her staff up in her hand, she turned to them and her face was determined.

"Let's go," She said firmly and wasn't about to be talked out of helping, "I'll do whatever you need."

Wynne would have argued, but Ffion went to the door ahead of them and stopped any discussions before they started. She wasn't ready to listen to the two mages go at it and when she opened this door and started for the next, she didn't have to worry about it. Four abominations sprang up from the ground as she reached for the doorknob and, after seeing firsthand what sort of damage Solona could do with her magic, she was ready to side with her no matter what anyone said.

The young woman was as adept with damaging magic as Wynne was with healing. Morrigan was perhaps more spontaneous with her spells, giving her a slight edge since no one knew where she intended to fire, but Solona concentrated. Her blasts of ice, fire, and stone dealt more damage than the witch's. The demons didn't stand a chance and they were gone in no time. What they weren't prepared for was what came next.

In the room they entered, there was yet another short flight of steps. And beside this, a young man was trapped behind a pale purple wall that shimmered rather dangerously. His blonde head was bowed, both hands covering his ears as he mouthed his prayers silently. The Templar armor was gleaming in the poor light and he was clearly a well-built young man. Solona gasped and was rushing towards him before they could stop her.

"Cullen?" She said softly, uncertainly, one hand reaching towards the wall and stopping short of touching it.

The Templar's hazel eyes came open and focused solely on Solona. His handsome face crumpled in something like despair and he dropped to his knees. He buried his face in his hands as though accepting a defeat none of them could understand.

"How far they must have delved into my thoughts," He said fiercely, refusing to look up at any of them, "The bastards! Tempting me with the one thing that I always wanted and could never have!... Using my own shame against me... my ill-advised, _stupid_, infatuation with her... A _mage_ of all things!"

"Oh!" Solona dropped her hand, her cheeks flooding with bright color as she understood what he was saying. Her green eyes flashed to them quickly and then away, barely flickering over Cullen, "Oh dear!"

"Stupid, pathetic... Damn it!" The Templar's voice was sharp and violent and he glared up at Solona with such vehemence, she stepped back, "Be gone, demon, I'm not ready to give in to you yet."

Ffion had moved to stand next to Solona and she was just as surprised by Cullen's anger. He looked at them in a confused, hopeless sort of way, his eyes flickering between all of them before landing on Solona again. He slowly got to his feet, backing away and beginning to pace restlessly.

"I... I don't understand," He said and his voice was desperate, "That's always worked before. Please, if you're going to kill me, do it now. Don't wait and torture me. It's better to die at the... supposed hands of someone I care about than a complete stranger."

"Cullen..." Solona murmured, reaching for a second time and looking between him and Ffion beseechingly, "Please, Cullen, don't think or say such things. I am not a vision, I'm real; just like those with me."

He was trying his best to ignore this and Wynne stepped in.

"Cullen, listen to Solona," Her voice was tempered, motherly, and her blue eyes were concerned, "She is telling you the truth."

The Templar's hazel eyes flickered to the Enchanter and his frown deepened. His cheeks flushed much like Solona's and though he looked at her briefly, he was too embarrassed to keep eye contact. His lips parted to respond, but nothing came. Ffion, starting to hurt again and feeling her exhaustion creeping back, stepped closer but remained wary of the shimmering cage.

"It's not an illusion, Cullen," She added firmly, "We came to help. I promised the Knight-Commander that we would do whatever we could. Is there a way to-"

"Then you can't hesitate," Cullen interrupted and seemed to come to life, "You must destroy every mage in that room. I have been trapped here since this started and the noises coming from there... It's horrible, the screams and cries... Please, you can't hesitate."

Leliana's harsh intake of breath, Solona's blanching and Wynne's open horror went unnoticed under Alistair's observation. He had moved closer, standing at Ffion's elbow next to Tilly.

"Can't you feel his hatred?" The ex-Templar's tone was much like Wynne's, though it had an edge that told them he knew firsthand Cullen's anger, "He's seen so many of his friends hurt and killed, too many, to feel anything else."

There was a sudden scuffle and crash from the next room and it seemed to fit Cullen's adamancy and Alistair's interpretation of it. Leliana responded to this more quickly then the others. Pale blue eyes were lit and one of her hands reached back for her bow.

"We have tarried long enough," She said, "Ffion, what do you think?"

The Warden studied Cullen a moment longer. The Templar's hazel eyes were fixed on her and he shook his head a little.

"Please, serah, you can't-"

"I can't make a decision without seeing this for myself," She interrupted and this time could hear her exhaustion, "That's all I can promise."

Cullen's shoulders sagged and though his gaze flickered briefly to Solona once more, he spoke to Ffion, his voice rough,

"Maker go with you then. I hope your mercy hasn't damned us all."

Ffion gave him a nod and turned away. Cullen had had his say and there was clearly nothing left to discuss. Solona was the only one that hesitated, looking searchingly at the Templar who had gone back to his prayers without a word. She extended one hand to the cage and then left it fall, instead murmuring quietly,

"Bless you, Cullen."


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: **Ta-daaa! Sorry about the tardiness, folks. Enjoy!

* * *

Ffion glanced back, smiling in encouragement as she went up the steps and opened the door to the next chamber. They crowded the doorway and couldn't help but stare at the scene before them.

A tall, bald-headed mage was crouching in front of a young man wearing apprentice's robes and a cloth cowl. He was speaking quietly to the younger mage whose terrified eyes were fixed on his face. On either side of him, two towering abominations were standing guard and when the young man nodded his head, they reached forward and grasped his arms. The bald man stepped back with a smirk that was anything but comforting and cupped his hands together as the power surged through the room. A painful white-blue light enveloped the young mage and there was a horrific scream before the light flashed pure white and dissipated.

In the place of the mage there was a third abomination and Wynne's harsh gasp drew the bald man's attention. He had been starting towards a group of four other mages and he turned about abruptly. His cold eyes were an even deeper black in the dim bluish light of the chamber and his pale skin made them glitter dangerously. Something about the way he stood, straight-backed and proud, struck Ffion and she suddenly knew where she had seen him before.

"You?" She said quietly, her surprise getting the better of her, "You were at Ostagar. How did you get away?"

"My dear girl," He chided, his voice colder than his eyes, "Why surprised that someone accomplished the same task? _You_ were at Ostagar as well and I doubt you tell everyone you meet how you escaped. But that is not why we are here, is it?"

Wynne was pushing up to stand beside Ffion and her blue eyes were burning with righteous anger.

"No," She answered shortly, "Uldred, you must stop this madness. Greagoir is going to see that all the mages die because of your actions."

Uldred sighed and dismissed the Enchanter with a mere flick of his wrist. His black eyes sought out Ffion and Alistair again and when he spoke, it was as though they were the only two he saw.

"She will persist in misunderstanding. But you two... I have watched you both since the beginning. Your drive, your ambition, is what I seek. This tower was altered to prevent all but the very strong from reaching this chamber and here you are. You asked how I escaped Ostagar... Demons are powerful beings and will do anything you ask if you give them a window," He paused and studied both the Wardens, a mad light entering his black gaze, "Can you imagine your ambition with the force of a demon behind it? You would be unstoppable! All the power you could ever want would be at your disposal. The ability to cut down anyone in your way and attain anything you wish!"

Ffion allowed herself to be tempted. _All the power you could ever want_... She couldn't help but imagine Howe, dead, at her feet; every last one of his soldiers that took an active role in the destruction of her life being put to death. Extra attention given to those that raped and killed Oriana and cut down innocent little Oren, too, of course...

Some of her hesitation, her _desire_, was clear to Uldred and he fastened his attention on her, but Alistair spoke before the mage could push further.

"No," He said and his voice was firm, uncompromising, "No, your demon downstairs tried the same damn trick and we bested him. We're not giving in to you this time either."

Ffion's grey eyes flashed to him, uncertain and angry that he would cut short the terms before they even started. Then Tilly whined, shoving her soft head into her lady's hand and successfully banishing the remnants of Uldred's spell. She steeled herself, rubbing the Mabari's ear briefly and then reaching for her swords.

"He's right," She added and flipped the blades smoothly into her palms, "You bastards have dragged us through enough crap, it ends now."

Uldred searched each of their set, grim faces, his eyes burning even hotter as his face twisted into a deranged mask. He motioned to his three abominations and then gathered his power to him once more.

"So be it," He snarled.

His monsters advanced on the band as they fanned out to protect Wynne and Solona. The Enchanter was holding her staff in one hand and the Litany in the other and giving Solona the first chance to fling magic. The three abominations were lifted partway off the floor by some unseen hand and slammed back into the flagstones. Two struggled to their feet, dazed, while the third remained still.

Ffion was impressed, but her eyes hadn't left Uldred. She had thought that he was attempting to turn another mage and was proved wrong. He himself was morphing, rocketing up from the ground to tower almost twenty feet tall. His skin darkened and grew scaly as his girth swelled to match his height. His nose flattened, meeting with his mouth to form a sort of snout as his eyes became snake-like and menacing horns sprouted from his head, arching back to complete the face of a demon.

"Maker help us," Wynne's voice was barely audible over the sound of another abomination going down, "A pride demon!"

Alistair immediately focused his attention on Uldred, leaving the remaining monster to Solona's very proficient care. Ffion was hot on his heels and Tilly's growls and barks were the most intimidating that she'd heard. One of her knives glanced off the demon's jaw and then lodged just under one of the horns as two of Leliana's arrows sank into his neck. These things were mere annoyances to him and he fastened on Alistair as the ex-Templar's sword did more substantial damage to his belly.

He roared, swiping for Alistair who was much quicker than he looked. He darted between the demon's legs, jabbing his blade into the back of one. Yanking it out, he dodged away as Uldred slammed his fist down where the ex-Templar had been standing.

"Alistair, back!" Solona hollered when it looked like he was going in to attack again.

He did as she asked and, a moment later, ice swept across the stone floor, hitting Uldred's legs and hindering his movements. Leliana took the opportunity to fire again and this time caused the demon pain. He howled in rage and then was focusing intently. Around the group of mages at the opposite end of the room was a familiar blue light and Wynne's voice was shouting out the Litany.

Uldred's magic came to an abrupt halt and he raged once more. He broke free of Solona's magic and was across the room more quickly than any of them could have believed. Alistair wasn't nearly fast enough this time and the demon caught him up in one giant hand. The ex-Templar struggled, his blade flashing in the poor light as he stabbed at Uldred's wrist and fingers, to no avail.

"No!" Ffion shouted, fear sweeping through her so fiercely it was almost debilitating.

She ran forward, her swords at the ready, and was striking at whatever she could reach. Tilly was with her and even Leliana left her safe perch and was coming closer so her arrows would have more force. None of their attacks seemed to have an effect and Uldred was gripping Alistair in the same way the the ogre had gripped Cailan. Ffion was shouting again, trying to get the demon's attention, and Leliana's hands were moving so quickly they were a blur. Wynne had dropped the Litany and was adding her magic, but it was Solona that saved the ex-Templar's life.

Her staff erupted with power and the force of it knocked Ffion, Tilly, and Leliana backwards and onto the floor. Uldred staggered and tossed his arms up in an attempt to keep his balance, while Alistair was suddenly airborne. He kept his wits, though, and grabbed hold of Udlred's spiky shoulder as he fell. Dragging himself up, struggling to keep his grip as the demon tried to rebound from Solona's spell, he clutched his blade in one hand and drove it into Uldred's neck.

The demon's breath went out in a harsh grunt and he stumbled a few more steps. Alistair debated whether or not to jump and then it was too late. Uldred's body stiffened momentarily and then went slack, dropping to the stone floor and sending the ex-Templar rolling away. He remained flat on his back, staring up at the chamber's ceiling and trying to catch his breath. His ribs ached in a way that told him the demon must have cracked a couple, and when Ffion's worried face appeared above him and he could feel Wynne's healing magic, he found his voice again.

"You, my friend, are a beautiful sight," He said softly, not sure what made him so forward with her.

Ffion's face flamed and she mentally berated her mutinous emotions. She put one hand on his shoulder to help him sit up and fumbled for something to say.

"I was so afraid you were..." She stopped, her penchant for blurting anything that popped into her head failing her for probably the first time in her life. Her face burned again and she brushed a few loose strands of hair from her eyes as she finished quietly, "I'm glad you're okay."

"So am I," He answered and slowly got to his feet. His honey colored eyes went beyond her, "Thanks, Solona, that could have ended very badly."

The young mage was looking around the chamber, her large green eyes sad as she took in the destruction of what had been the only home she had ever known. She smiled a little at the ex-Templar's genuine appreciation, though, and nodded her head.

"You're welcome," She answered and started towards Wynne who had immediately gone to the other mages, "I wish it wouldn't have come to this, but Ffion is right, everyone is okay, and that's all that matters."

Alistair was cleaning his sword and Tilly licking blood from one of her paws. Ffion took one step after the mages and was stopped when Leliana spoke.

"Here, Ffion," The Orlesian's accented voice was saying.

The Warden turned and saw that she was holding out her little knife. It was clean and winking up at Ffion who accepted it gratefully. In Leliana's other hand was the bunch of arrows that had been fired at Uldred.

"Thanks," She said, "I'd hate to lose these."

"I cannot blame you," The Orlesian replied, "They are lovely little knives."

Ffion nodded, examining the knife and running one finger across the carvings in the hilt.

"Yeah, they are. They were gifts from... from a very dear friend of mine," She hesitated and then went on, "He was from up north, but I have had no word from him since I left for Ostagar with Duncan. He was part of the Cousland guard, and I'm not sure if he survived that assault."

Leliana's blue eyes were studying her with such intensity that she couldn't keep eyes contact with her, which was about as good as confessing who she was. The Orlesian may have appeared to be rather simple-minded and innocent, but that clearly was not the case. And when she finally nodded her head and spoke again, Ffion knew that her secret would be safe, no matter what.

"Then keep them close, dear," She said, "There are still those that want to destroy every-thing belonging to the Couslands and we cannot let that happen."

These words were for Ffion only and Alistair was not within earshot anymore anyway. Her grey eyes finally met Leliana's and she inclined her head, her exhaustion deeper than ever and making her more emotional than she liked.

"Thank-you," She murmured.

Leliana dimpled and then turned abruptly as Wynne, Solona, and the other mages approached. There were two other apprentices who were pale faced and shocked, though keeping it together; a mage that was a few years older than Solona and relieved to be alive once you looked past her apprehension; and the last was an elderly man. His eyes were a deep hazel, much like Cullen's, and his beard and hair had long ago lost its deep brown. There was a small patch of it just to the left of his mouth and it made the white and grey of the rest look rather distinguished. Much to Ffion's surprise, he was giving her a bow and then reaching out to grasp her hand in his.

"My dear, we owe you our lives," He said and his voice was raspy with exhaustion. His green robes were rumpled and smudged here and there with dirt and blood, but when Solona placed his elegant staff in his free hand, he could not have appeared more regal, "The Circle would have been lost without you good people and we will forever be in your debt. But now, Wynne tells me that the Knight-Commander is awaiting your return, so let us officially end this. Solona, dear, would you give an old man your arm? I do not know what the mages of old were thinking, putting the Harrowing Chamber at the top floor."

They skirted Uldred who, in his death throes, had regained his human form. Ffion looked down at him and for one ridiculous, comical moment thought how good a thing that was. She had been wondering how the hell they were going to get the demon's huge form down those steps; and then they were standing in front of Cullen again and she sobered.

The purple cage that had held the Templar captive was gone and he was standing in front of the next doorway, his arms folded over his chest. He wasn't armed, so there was no concern on that front, but he was glowering in such a way that no one was willing to put his patience to the test. In this state, he would be more than inclined to postpone them long enough for Greagoir to achieve his Right of Annulment.

Ffion wasn't about to allow it. She was dead on her feet, likely to collapse in the next few moments, and she wasn't going to let _one_ Templar stand between her and a well-deserved rest. Not when she had already faced down too many demons to count and saved all their sorry asses at the risk of her own and her friends'.

"I still have not made my decision, Cullen," She told him in a firm voice and then continued when the Templar's hazel eyes went wide with astonishment, "I must speak with your commander. You can add your part of this story as well and we'll see what he says."

Cullen thought on that, clearly looking for any loop holes that she and the others could slip through and was satisfied when it seemed a foolproof plan. Greagoir couldn't simply ignore a Templar's tale.

"Fair enough," He answered and turned to open the door.

He led the way, stopping to gather Solona's charges who were scared but safe, and then down to the first floor where Petra and the children were still gathered. Pila was among them. The young mage sent Ffion a smile that was at the same time appreciative and troubled. She came close and started to speak but Ffion interrupted.

"I'll keep my promise, Pila," She said quickly, hoping that the mage wouldn't say anything incriminating in Cullen's presence. She knew that there was no way she was going to allow the Right of Annulment and she wanted the Templar believing that she was still considering the situation until they were standing, with the First Enchanter, in front of Greagoir, "You were a tremendous help and that's all that needs to be seen."

Irving was the key to getting through the huge double doors that had been so ominously locked behind Ffion's band what felt like weeks ago. Greagoir, in spite of his assumed assurance that Annulment was the only answer, was downright happy to see the First Enchanter and none of Cullen's arguments would convince him that the Circle _had_ to be destroyed. The only thing he couldn't promise was the Templars' aid in the fight against the Blight. Their attention had to be on protecting the mages from another such attack and Ffion reluctantly accepted this.

The mages, however, were more than ready to support her in anything. She had been their salvation and when she spoke to Irving about Conner and Isolde, he had to turn mages away who wanted to help. Instead he chose a band of five, including himself, and told her that they were ready to leave whenever she was. Her grey eyes went about the foyer of the Circle, wanting at least a little sleep and knowing that her sense of guilt would never allow it. She let out a sigh and nodded her head.

"Then we should move," She replied, "We left Redcliffe in a very uncertain position and though I know it's only been a few hours, it feels like we left weeks ago."

"Just a moment, please, Ffion," Wynne cut it and then looked at Irving, "I'd like permission to go with you, Irving. I want to help this young woman with the Blight. Not just as part of the mages' support. If she will have me, I'd like to stay with her band while she gathers more forces."

Ffion blinked, not expecting that. She studied Wynne briefly and then smiled her first genuine smile in hours.

"I'd love to have you along, Wynne," She answered, "You'd be more than welcome."

Irving was also studying his colleague. His expression was almost tender and when he spoke, it was gently chiding,

"You never did sit idle when there was work to be done. And although you will be greatly missed here, I think they need your help more than we do. Go with them, with my blessing."

"Then we shouldn't waste anymore time," Alistair cut in and his voice held all the urgency that Irving had felt about Conner's predicament.

Irving's chosen few took little to no time in gathering what they needed and they left the Circle, crossed the lake and headed back down the road towards Redcliffe with haste. The sun had set completely, but traveling with a group of mages meant that they didn't have to waste torches. The air was warm in spite of the proximity to the lake and the moon and stars were so bright, they probably would have been okay without Irving and Wynne lighting the path. They made good speed and the First Enchanter seemed none the worse for wear after his hardships.

After several hours, Ffion found herself stumbling along, half asleep, and Leliana had to catch her at least three or four times so she wouldn't find herself eating the dirt of the road. She called a halt and they made a hasty camp. This time the Orlesian didn't take no for an answer and sat the Warden's watch herself so that Ffion could rest. Ffion offered a few halfhearted arguments but was asleep before her head hit the cloak she substituted for a pillow. And for the first time since she left Highever, she slept without dreaming.

* * *

Teagan approached Morrigan rather warily. He was wishing that he had Ffion or Alistair here to discuss this with, but was out of luck. And given the choice between Sten and Morrigan, the witch was the lesser of two evils. But only by a little. Morrigan was leaning on the parapet, the soldiers giving her a wide berth as she gazed out at the calm lake. There were a few stars flickering in the growing dusk and as the Bann came level with her, he was struck again by the witch's beauty.

She glanced at him, her gold eyes flickering briefly with annoyance at this interruption, but she didn't deter him. Teagan placed his hands on the stone, looking out at the lake as well and waited a moment before speaking.

"I just spoke with Jowan," He commented and felt the rough stone cut into his fingers as he involuntarily gripped more tightly, "He's worried that this... demon that has control of Conner is gaining strength again. He warned me to be on the lookout for any of the undead. I don't know how much longer we can wait for them."

Morrigan studied the young man, wishing that Ffion was here as well. She was no good at these conversations and wasn't the right person for this situation.

"And?" She questioned, her voice cool, "This is the reason Ffion left him here, yes? He is doing his job then. I do not see the problem."

Teagan blinked at her, not expecting the short, almost angry, response. His reflex action was to snap back, but that wouldn't do anyone any good. So he let out a breath and tried again, wondering how it was that this woman could so completely intimidate someone with just a glance.

"If things get any worse..." He had to steel himself for the next words, hating to make this decision, but having no choice, "Will you be ready for the ritual?"

The witch was quiet, seeing the Bann's dilemma and considering what that meant to her, personally. She felt anger start to creep through her, anger at Ffion for leaving her in this position, but more angry with herself for actually sympathizing with these people. She straightened from leaning on the parapet and faced Teagan fully.

"Indeed I will," She answered, "But a word of caution, Bann. 'Twould be wise to wait one more day. I have a feeling our foolish little leader will arrive just in time."

She turned and disappeared back into the castle, leaving Teagan alone with his fears and doubts.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: **Late, I know, I'm sorry! It's been a really long week, (Monday was a 15 1/2 hour work day!) Anyway, I'll stop whining and get to it. Dragon Age isn't mine, although my darling Zevran finally makes his appearance here. Take care!

* * *

Ffion had finally had enough. She paused in their trek down the dusty road and began pulling at the hair pins in agitation. The rest of the group stopped when she did, but she waved them on.

"Just go ahead," She told them as her hair started to curl down her back and over her shoulders, "I'll catch up."

Tilly stayed by her side as Alistair trailed after the mages, chatting with Wynne as he did so. His honey eyes lingered appreciatively on Ffion's cloud of chocolate curls, but whatever the Enchanter was saying seemed more intriguing.

"You have lovely hair," Leliana commented, lingering next to Tilly, "You should wear it loose more often."

Ffion snorted a little, grabbing her hair in both fists and twisting it up so she could bind it behind her head. She secured it with a leather band and then pushed the pins back through it to keep the strands from her eyes.

"If I was cursed with having this mess down all the time, I'd be hacking it off with one of my knives," Happy with her work and realizing how ungrateful that sounded, she gave the Orlesian a shamefaced smile, "But thanks, Leliana. Come on, let's catch up."

They went around the bend in the road where the mages had disappeared and ran into another snag. One of the packs in which the extra lyrium was being carried had busted a seam, sending bottles of the powerful powder scattering over the road. A few of them had popped open and two of the mages were trying to salvage what they could.

Ffion and Leliana were stepping forward and stooping to pick up a few of the bottles when the cry came. Immediately everyone straightened and watched as a very frantic young woman came running up to them. Her peasant clothes were grubby and disheveled and her blonde hair was wild about her face. She sought out Ffion and Alistair above all the others and stopped just short of grabbing Ffion by the arm.

"Please, you must help!" She exclaimed breathlessly, "Raiders! They attacked our caravan and I only just got away. Please, help!"

"Irving, catch up when you can," Ffion said and motioned for Alistair and Leliana, Tilly at her side, "We'll hold them off as long as we can."

"Maker bless you!" The woman said and turned back the way she came, "It's this way, please hurry!"

They followed her down the road, Wynne joining them with a determined expression. The rest of the woman's party was about a hundred yards further, hidden around a bend and a little ways off the main path. There was smoke pouring from a overturned carriage and a dead ox was sprawled nearby. There were only three other people present and none of them looked like peasant travelers. A slender blonde Elf was standing in the forefront and two men were on either side of him.

Ffion didn't need to hear Leliana's softly spoken _trouble_ to tell that something wasn't right. The blonde woman was suddenly composed and she approached the Elf calmly, giving him a nod. The Elf returned this and raised one hand. Instantly eight archers sprang up, positioned on the small rise that formed a horseshoe around the burning cart. There was a tremendous _crack_ of snapping timber and the tree that had been standing proud at one end of the horseshoe was falling. With Ffion's band underneath it.

"Down!" She shouted and all of them dove out of the way.

Ffion rolled across the dirt and was on her heels, a knife taking down one of the archers as the Elf said harshly,

"The Grey Wardens die here!"

Leliana was taking out two more archers and, of course, the blonde woman turned out to be a mage. She flung her magic at them and Wynne's shield was the only thing that saved them. The Elf and two men were throwing themselves into it now and the Elf was an experienced rogue. He faced off with Alistair as one man fell to Ffion's blades and the other met his match with Tilly. Leliana was still focused on the archers and another swift toss of Ffion's knife saved Wynne from one of the fast flying arrows.

Alistair was lucky with the Elf, succeeding in slashing his sword across his ribcage and then knocking him over the head. That foe disposed of, he charged at the mage and she was also gone. All that were left were the archers and Leliana had them whittled down to two by the time Irving and his mages caught up with them. Not that everyone got away completely unscathed. Alistair was bleeding from a deep gouge on his forearm that Wynne was quick to take care of; Tilly's limp was even more pronounced and an arrow had caught Leliana's cheek. Ffion was still as tired as ever and there was a sharp snap of pain in her side as a result of escaping from the falling tree. Wynne seemed the only one that was whole and she was proving an excellent nurse.

"Ffion, this one is still alive," One of the mages called as they went about looting and setting aside the bodies, "What should we do with him?"

Ffion approached and saw that the blonde Elf was still breathing, though the gash across ribcage was a good one and his leather armor was soaked with blood. She crouched next to him and studied his face. He was handsome in a rather rough way. His lips were full and broad, his face clean shaven, like all male Elves. The faded green ink of his tattoo and the olive tone in his skin told her he spent a _lot_ of time outdoors. There were lines about his eyes and mouth that seemed out of place for his young age and even unconscious, he had an expression that told her he had seen too much of the hard way of living. She didn't know him and felt a sudden softening of her resolve. It didn't matter that he had tried to kill her, that was nothing personal, and she wanted to know who it was that sent him.

"Give me some bandages," She finally answered and felt Wynne come close to her, "Wynne, is there anything you can do here?"

The Enchanter knelt beside her and looked over the Elf's wound.

"The most I can do right now is stop the bleeding," She replied.

Ffion waved for her to do so as she unfastened the Elf's leather breastplate and moved it out of her way. As an afterthought, she also removed the remaining weapons in his belt and lifted up the cloth shirt so she could work on the gash. She took the clean bandages that the mage brought her and began binding the wound. Glancing up at Irving who had also come closer, she added,

"We'll burn the bodies. We don't have time to do much else. Unless you have another idea?"

The First Enchanter shook his head.

"I don't," He replied, "And that is the most we can do for these people. At least it is better than leaving them for the carrion."

Ffion sat back from her doctoring and eased to her heels. Tilly was perched next to her and she examined the Mabari's paw to satisfy herself that there was nothing too serious the matter with her. As she was doing this, the Elf groaned, coming around much more quickly than she thought he would. She leaned forward again and met his startling amber eyes when they blinked open. He stared at her for a moment and then tipped his head back to look up at the cloudless sky.

"Well, this is most... unexpected,"He muttered, his Antivan accent thick. One hand felt the bandages across his ribs and his eyes found hers again when his fingers missed the knife hilts in his belt, "I did not expect to wake at all. The tales of the Wardens do you no justice, though this act of mercy is contradictory, no?"

"I like to surprise people," Ffion answered dryly, annoyed that her recent alterations to her hair were now proving pointless. She brushed it back with one hand and added, "Besides, what good are you to me dead?"

Alistair moved in behind her and was standing with Leliana. Wynne hadn't moved from her spot next to Ffion and the other mages were still busy with the bodies. The Elf glanced at each of them and resigned himself to this inevitable fate.

"Certainly a good point," He answered and shifted gingerly so that he could sit up, "But allow me to save you valuable time. My name is Zevran Arainai, recently of the Antivan Crows. I was hired by a rather taciturn man in Denerim... Loghain, I think his name was... who was quite determined to see that all Grey Wardens were taken care of. Here I ran into a snag, obviously, and now we have a dilemma."

"_I_ don't see one," Alistair commented and Ffion could feel the heat of his stare.

Zevran's eyes were lit suddenly and he couldn't seem to help but tease the ex-Templar.

"Indeed?" He said, "I should think it quite clear."

"What sort of dilemma?" Ffion cut in before Alistair lost his temper.

The Elf's gaze was on her again and she felt an odd sort of flush sweep through her. Here was a man that enjoyed women and was not bothering to hide his appreciation of her gender. His amber eyes were still dancing and it was clear he recognized, and responded to, her muddled feelings.

"Well, my dear," He started and his amusement grew at Alistair's distaste for that endearment, "I have failed in my contract to kill you and am now at your mercy, yes? Since my life is forfeit at this moment anyway, I place myself completely at your disposal. Let me serve you instead. You will find that I am quite adept at rooting out fellow assassins; in a fair fight, I am hard to kill, while in an unfair one, impossible; I have a talent for poisons and traps... grenades, if that is your wish. As for other... interests: I have been told, I am an... enlightening companion."

"Oh," Wynne said in a huff, though her blue eyes were lively.

Ffion's face went red, but she didn't look away from the Elf and held up one hand to keep Alistair from commenting.

"You're selling out your Crows and your employer," She observed and was pleased that her voice was cool and all business, "How could you convince me that I won't receive that special brand of loyalty?"

"You are failing to see one all important fact, my Warden," He purred the words in a way that Ffion didn't think possible and she hated that he was charming her effortlessly into agreeing with him, "If I return to 'my Crows' I am a dead man anyway. They will kill me for failing. When no word reaches them, they will assume I died with the rest of these hired hands. Loghain would also kill me if I go back to him and, I must be honest, I enjoy living. I would very much like for it to continue and it's clear you are my only choice."

"Ffion, you aren't really-"

The Warden held up her hand again, stopping Alistair's unbelieving words short. She was arching her brows at Zevran, trying to prove, to herself mostly, that she wasn't impressed. But he was making sense and she was hoping that it wasn't just the fact that this Elf could probably charm the Archdemon itself.

"You must think I'm a royal ignoramus," She told him, more curious than anything else about how he would worm his way out of this one, "To take an _assassin's_ word without substantial proof."

Zevran didn't take note of Alistair's smug pleasure at his fellow Warden's words, Leliana's growing pity, Wynne's amusement, or the fact that the other mages had finished their work and were now watching curiously. His amber eyes were on Ffion only and he switched tactics on her, easily picking up on those subjects that would cause her painful embarrassment and, more importantly, those that would be sure to charm. Because if Zevran Arainai was born with any natural talent, it was to read people more thoroughly than they could read themselves.

"I think you're royally hard to kill... And, it goes without saying, utterly gorgeous. I can think of hundreds of worse things than serving the whims of a beautiful and deadly woman."

Ffion's face flamed again and this time she was speechless. She recognized what Zevran was doing as clearly as everyone else and she couldn't bring herself to hate its effectiveness too much because... well, it was flattering. Alistair was snorting at this grasping at straws, Wynne was grinning fully now, and Leliana was the one that spoke next.

"Is this so different from Jowan?" She observed. There was something about the assassin that drew her and she couldn't help but stick up for him, "He is trying to make this right, I say we let him."

"_What?_" Alistair exclaimed, "So you want to take assassins with us now? What's next-"

"I agree with her," Ffion interrupted calmly, her cheeks still red but her voice found once more, "We've wasted enough time and Wardens don't turn away help when it's offered. Zevran, if I suspect even the slightest wavering in your vow, it's over."

"Agreed," He answered and accepted the small hand she offered to help him up, "From now on I am your man. I'll pick up my blades when you call and follow you until you see fit to release me. I swear it."

He polished off this eloquent little speech with a graceful bow and a feral smirk curled his full lips at Alistair's open disgust.

"This is all well and good," The ex-Templar commented, "But... well, do you really think it's wise bringing an _assassin_ along? One moment everyone's cooperating and feeling the love, and the next, you have a knife in your back."

At the word 'knife', Ffion was turning to root through the pile of arms that the mages had set aside and her little knives were instantly nestled back in her belt. She also took up Zevran's weapons and was turning to hand them back when the Elf chose that moment to answer Alistair.

"Feeling the love?" He repeated and his eyes roved boldly over Leliana and Ffion both before he added, "Yes, I see where that is desirable."

"Enough," She cut in, wondering how quickly this decision was going to come back and bite her in the ass. She gave the Elf his blades, "Here, we're making for the village of Redcliffe, which you probably knew already. Does that need more attention or will you be okay?"

Zevran slid the weapons away and then shrugged back into his breastplate without even a wince of pain. He fastened the buckles and shook his white-blonde head.

"No need, my dear. Your lovely Enchanter has worked her magic and I'm strong enough for anything."

"Right, then, let's get going."

Alistair's voice was brisk and he ushered Ffion ahead of him as he started down the road again. Irving and his mages had wisely separated themselves from the exchange and were waiting a few yard away, but Zevran's next words brought Ffion's band to a halt once more.

"Without proper introductions?" He was quizzing, "So does this mean I get to call you whatever I please? How about Sunshine? No? Cheery, then. Ah, I have it! Chirpy!"

Ffion couldn't help but giggle at that one and immediately felt guilty when Alistair looked at her as though she had just told him his favorite dog died. She stopped walking and put one hand on the ex-Templar's arm to stop him as well.

"He's right, we need to be introduced," She said, "After all, he told us who he was."

Zevran smiled brightly at Alistair, clearly wanting to push his buttons even more, and entirely secure in Ffion's protection. He extended one hand and the ex-Templar reluctantly shook it.

"Alistair," He said shortly.

Leliana was next, followed by Wynne, who was still enjoying this whole fiasco too much. The Elf turned to Ffion and glanced between her and Tilly.

"And you, my dove?"

"Ffion and this is Tilly," She put one hand on the Mabari's head with a possessiveness that was quite obvious.

"A truly remarkable animal," He offered and allowed Tilly to lick his fingers. His eyes turned mischievous and he glanced around at each of them, "And fine names, all of yours. Though personally, I am quite attached to 'Chirpy', I think that might have to stick, yes?"

Alistair's fists clenched and he had to physically bite his tongue to keep from snapping back when he caught Ffion's warning glance. To his dismay, he found himself missing Morrigan and knew that this trip was now going to take four times as long as he originally thought. _Maker, help me!_

They arrived at Redcliffe early the next morning, and not a moment too soon. Jowan, worry deepened into substantial fear, had prepared everything for his own ritual, just in case. Isolde was pale and determined to see this through, but her face lit up with relief and joy when she saw the mages that were accompanying Ffion. Jowan was just as pleased and even Sten and Morrigan seemed glad to see them. Though Sten merely gave a nod and Morrigan, with a withering glare at Zevran's obvious attraction to her, was wanting immediate action with Conner. In spite of her irritation with Teagan and his insistence in confiding in her, even she was able to see the subtle changes in Conner's behavior and knew that the sooner they acted, the better. Ffion listened to her points patiently as she helped the mages empty their packs of lyrium and then nodded her head. Her grey eyes sought out Irving's hazel and she arched her brows.

"As soon as you're ready, Enchanter," She told him.

He bowed a little and then motioned to the other mages. He glanced between the witch and Ffion and replied rather carefully,

"It will not take any time, but you have to decide who it is that will be entering the Fade, and it cannot be you. It has to be another mage. Choose wisely, Ffion, whoever enters the Fade will be tempted and that is not what we need. It is not what that child needs."

Ffion nodded and looked thoughtful. She was glancing at Morrigan, trying to ignore Zevran's presence at her elbow, when Jowan cut it.

"Let me do it, please, Ffion. It... I – I need to do this. I told you I wanted to set everything right and here is my chance. Please?"

"What?" Teagan asked, sounding a lot like Alistair, "You are the one who-"

"It doesn't matter," Leliana was quick to come to Jowan's defense, "He wants to do this; it is a way to redeem himself."

Ffion was studying the young mage. His expression was drawn, determined, and Isolde was looking at him with a new-found respect. She wasn't sure she would be able to go against both of them.

"All right, Jowan," She said slowly, "But you do know what failure means for you?"

The mage was glancing around the room and smiling gently at the Arlessa.

"I do," He answered firmly, "If I fail, you have to kill me, Ffion. That is the only alternative to demon possession, but I can't expect anything less... or more, for that matter."

"Are you sure this is wise, Ffion?" Irving questioned and for the first time since they met, his eyes were shining with animosity, "You know of Jowan's history. You know how this came about."

Ffion was still studying Jowan and she found herself agreeing with Leliana once more. The Orlesian made a fair point: Jowan had proved himself more trustworthy than anyone would believe and this seemed to be his final test.

"He's willing," She said shortly and waved one hand towards the mages' work, "Thank-you, Jowan. This is a good thing."

"Not to mention heroic," Leliana added, smiling at the mage.

Zevran, leaning one hip against the table where the lyrium was spread and nonchalantly running a whetstone along a blade that was already razor sharp, drawled lazily,

"Heroic? Lovely Leliana, I believe the word you are searching for is suicidal."

Leliana shook her head at him, not dignifying his comment with another word, and instead went to assist the mages. Ffion was distracted with her pack as she rooted out Tilly's food and was in the middle of looking for the Mabari's bowl when one dropped into her line of vision. She glanced up to meet Zevran's amber colored gaze and smiled a little at him.

"Thanks," She said and proceeded to feed her hound as Tilly's tail thumped the floor.

Zevran watched her curiously and wondered, not for the first time, why it was that he was so enamored of her. Leliana was the more attractive one when comparing them side-by-side and now that he had met Morrigan he knew it was downright cruel to compare another woman to her. But Ffion... there was something so alluring about her fresh-faced, wide-eyed innocence. He had seen too many with this same gift become bitter and broken by life and he was surprised to find himself wanting to protect this woman. And just then, when she smiled as she thanked him, he saw one of the little puzzle pieces fall into place. Her grey eyes were just like Rinna's and he wondered if maybe this was fate's twisted sense of humor at work. Sense of humor or sense of justice? Here was his chance to at least _attempt_ to make things right and he was trying to tread carefully. Subtlety was not his strong point though and he knew his baser instincts would be fighting him all the way, but he could try.

"Are you well, Ffion?" He questioned suddenly.

Ffion wasn't sure what was more surprising: the question or the use of her name. Since she had recruited the Elf, he had been her constant companion, next to Tilly, and in that time he had used her first name on maybe four occasions. It was always 'my dear,' 'my Warden,' or 'my dove' and almost always with the possessive. She found it flattering and more than a little shocking. Her parents were the only ones that had ever used any endearments and she wasn't sure how she felt about a relative stranger doing so.

"Well?" She repeated as she realized the silence was stretching for far too long, "I'm fine. Why? Am I turning blue or something?"

"Silly Warden," He replied and his hands stilled on the blade while his amber eyes met hers again, "Not blue, no, but you are quite pale."

She straightened, leaving her pack leaning against the table and watched as a sleeping Conner was carried in and placed on a couch near Irving and Jowan. Alistair was approaching them and she smiled at the ex-Templar.

"I'm just... tired, I guess," She commented, "But that's not important. I can catch up on my rest when I'm dead."

She said the words lightly, her focus on Alistair, so she missed Zevran's quick scrutinizing look and puzzled frown.

"Most unhealthy, my Warden," His light tone matched hers, though he filed those words away,with good reason, "Attitudes like this belong to big, dumb strong types like our Chirpy, and they lead to awful break downs. Be on your guard, dear."

Alistair was standing in front of Ffion while the Elf spoke and though his eyes flashed, he was getting much better at completely ignoring Zevran and his barbed tongue.

"They're ready, Ffion," He announced, "And Irving is waiting for your word before he starts. I think Jowan wants to talk with you, too."

"Good," She answered and then glanced at the Elf, "And don't worry, Zevran. I'm sure you'll spot my break down before I will and take all the necessary precautions. So we'll both be on guard, yeah?"

Zevran swept her a bow, his manners always more flirtatious when Alistair was watching, and almost looked like he was going to kiss her hand.

"I will certainly be watching, my dove," He purred, "You can depend on Zevran."

Jowan _was_ waiting to speak with her and his face was pale and drawn. His gaze was very worried and it kept flickering between Conner's peaceful face and the spot that Irving's mages had cleared for the ritual. He smiled a little at her, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"I know we don't have time, but..." He trailed off and was at a loss for words.

Ffion recognized the imploring way he searched her face and extended one hand to him, her smile gentle.

"No matter what happens, Jowan, you've proved yourself a hero," She shook his hand and her eyes turned a little mischievous, "Reluctant, maybe, but a hero all the same. You won't be forgotten. Oh! Which reminds me."

She let go of him and hurried back to her pack. This time, she actually found what she was looking for in no time and turned to the young mage, holding out the little gift and card. Solona had thrust both into her hands just before they left the Circle, telling her in an undertone that they were meant for Jowan, with her love.

"For me?" Jowan asked, accepting both and glancing quickly at the First Enchanter who was still busy with the last preparations, "But-"

"They're from Solona," She interrupted, "She wanted me to give them to you."

"Solona?" Jowan repeated and his eyes lit up, "You saw her? She's okay, then?"

"She's fine. We wouldn't have come out alive without her," Ffion answered and saw out of the corner of her eye that Irving was motioning to her, "Like I said, Jowan, you won't be forgotten. You've more than redeemed yourself, I think."

The young mage had opened the gift first and an amulet that appeared handmade dropped into his palm. His lips parted for a moment as he studied this and then they curled up into a happy, reminiscent smile. Emotions were playing across his face, but he clutched the amulet in one hand and grasped Ffion's own in the other.

"You've been a better friend then I deserve, Ffion, and I won't forget that you gave me this chance."

Irving approached then and, at Jowan's nod, she gave the okay.

The ritual had begun.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: **Hello all! Pretty close to being on time, yah, enjoy and take care and happy Halloween.

* * *

Ffion, not needed at the forefront anymore, dropped down to the floor beside Tilly and leaned against the wall. Alistair was talking with Wynne again, Leliana had pulled her bow loose and was oiling the supple, beautiful wood; Sten was hulking by a window, looking out at the view, while Morrigan was actively ignoring Zevran's leering. Zevran who was lounging, as always, close at hand.

The young Warden tipped her head against the wall behind her, looking briefly at Jowan's troubled face as he slept close by Conner. Her body ached with the exertions of the past couple of days and the snatches of sleep on the road back to Redcliffe had merely teased her. A semi-silence had fallen over the hall: Alistair and Wynne's voices were muted, Teagan and Isolde were sitting side-by-side, not speaking, and the mages were murmuring softly to one another as though they were all keeping vigil over a corpse; not a young boy and the tutor fighting to save him.

Ffion relaxed more completely and allowed her eyes to drift shut. Tilly was resting her heavy head on her lady's thigh and even Zevran, who usually took whatever opportunity he had to talk to her, was respecting her privacy. Morrigan... not so much.

"Assassins and enchanters now, Ffion?" Her cold voice interrupted Ffion's partial slumber, "I am afraid Alistair was correct... for once. You have a predilection for collecting people... and not particularly desirable ones."

Zevran's smile was feral and it curled the tattoo at the corner of his eye as he answered before Ffion had the chance.

"Don't be hard on yourself, lovely," He purred, "You are more than desirable."

If Morrigan was able to kill with a look, the Elf would have dropped dead at that moment. And Ffion likely interrupted a much more substantial attempt when she suddenly remembered that she had something for the witch. She was rifling through her pack for the third time and checking to make sure that the First Enchanter was still preoccupied. Irving wasn't paying them any mind; his attention focused on Jowan and Conner's faces, ready to step in the instant that something went wrong.

Ffion tugged Flemeth's spell book from her bag and waved Morrigan closer. The witch's gold eyes were curious as she crouched beside her and she cocked her head a little, meeting Ffion's gaze.

"What's undesirable about an assassin who charms like Sten intimidates and a healer?" The Warden quizzed and made Zevran chuckle. She extended the book to Morrigan, "I thought you might find this interesting... but if I were you, I wouldn't let Irving see it."

"Tsk, tsk, dove," Zevran chided, "Stealing does not become you."

Ffion's face reddened. She had been warring with herself ever since she took the tome. Her mother would have been horrified and it was astounding how guilty she felt about that. Grey eyes not leaving Morrigan, who was looking at the book with something like awe, she tried to keep her tone light as she answered.

"It was stolen in the first place," Her voice instead sounded incredibly defensive and she winced before trying again, "Haven't you ever heard that two wrongs make a right?"

This time she was successful. Zevran's amber eyes lit with amusement at her teasing note, but Morrigan interrupted any further conversations. She had found the scrawled _Flemeth_ and was running her slender fingers over it. Her gold eyes met Ffion's.

"Do you know what this is?" She asked in an undertone.

Ffion was surprised that the witch seemed to be as concerned by Irving's attention as she was and she glanced at the First Enchanter once more.

"I just assumed that it was a spell book," She replied when it was clear they were the least of Irving's worries, "I can't read the language it's in, but the drawings in the margins kind of supported that idea."'

"'Tis so," Morrigan was studying her rather intently and then she tipped one corner of her mouth up in what was _almost_ a friendly smile, "I wish to start reading this immediately. Thank you, Ffion. I will not pass up the opportunity to learn more than Flemeth ever wished me to."

The witch hefted the book and went to her own pack, leaving Zevran and Ffion to stare after her in surprise. Zevran glanced at the Warden and his brows inched up.

"That was unexpected, yes?" He questioned.

Ffion shook her head a little and swept a loose curl behind her ear.

"Very," She looked up at him, her desire to tease stronger than ever, "Breathe it in, Zevran. Chances are you'll never hear another Morrigan thank you."

"Ffion?" Irving's voice was urgent, "Come quickly."

Ffion pushed Tilly from her lap and was at once at the First Enchanter's elbow. Alistair was next to her and they both looked down at Jowan's face as Conner started coming around. The young mage was pale, his eyelids flickering as though he was having a nightmare. His lips parted and, as Conner opened his eyes, Jowan gasped. It startled him awake and he blinked up at Ffion and Alistair before his eyes met the First Enchanter's.

"M-Mother?" Conner stuttered, shrinking away from the mages that surrounded him.

No evidence of the demon possession remained and Conner was an innocent boy again. He was terrified of those around him and his lost expression overwhelmed his mother. She ran to him, her arms open.

"Conner!" She exclaimed brokenly, "Oh, my boy! My dear boy..."

It was unclear who was holding on more tightly and Isolde was burying her face in Conner's hair. She didn't care that she sobbing in front of everyone and no one dared think less of her simply because she showed the emotions that most of them were feeling. Irving was sliding an arm around Jowan's shoulders and helping him to sit up, previous animosity gone.

"You have done well, my boy," He was saying, his ancient voice sounding tired, "You resisted the temptation and reunited a mother and son."

Teagan, face drawn, was stepping closer. Ffion's companions had also crowded around and he found himself the center of attention as he added his own two bits.

"I am grateful to you, Jowan," The Bann said slowly, clearly not liking the position he found himself in, "You proved that you sincerely wanted to fix this, but that doesn't negate what's been done to my brother."

Jowan was sitting up on his own and he blanched. His already pale face was white now and his hazel eyes flickered before he steeled himself once more. Straightening his shoulders and meeting Teagan's gaze, he inclined his head.

"I know, my lord," He spoke softly, but firmly, "After what I've done, I don't deserve mercy, I know that. But it sets my heart at ease, knowing that I was able to help Conner and the Arlessa. Whatever happens to me... it's in the Maker's hands."

Isolde was looking at Jowan, torn between gratefulness and the anger that had gripped her so fiercely every time she talked about the mage. One hand was stroking Conner's hair and she frowned rather pensively, glancing at her brother-in-law.

"Teagan..." She said hesitantly, "Maybe we should... rethink this. I know that what happened to Eamon can't be forgotten, but he did help us. Conner is back and... I don't think we should ignore this."

The Bann was in complete agreement with her on this and he nodded once before looking at Ffion. Her gaze was on Isolde and Conner, pleased with their success, and he felt that inkling of recognition again. He just couldn't figure out where he had seen her before.

"What do you say, Ffion?"

The Warden glanced up at him in surprise, her eyebrows arched. Grey eyes met blue and she shrugged.

"Why is this my decision?" She replied, "It is your brother that was poisoned, Teagan, and I don't have any say in that matter."

"You left Jowan in charge here; the two of you made the decision to go to the Circle and ask the mages for assistance," Teagan's voice had taken on an edge of impatience, "So far, Ffion, you have been our salvation. Why shouldn't you make this decision?"

"You are basing a man's fate on past luck?" Sten's deep voice was incredulous.

Zevran gave a snort of laughter and he was looking at Ffion.

"My dear, they don't want their winning streak broken," He commented and the amusement in his voice didn't quite cover the irritation he felt over this.

Teagan was setting his jaw stubbornly, looking much younger as he did so. His blue eyes were flickering between them all and he wasn't bothering to hide his frustration.

"Well, why should you be surprised by that?" He demanded, "Ffion and Alistair have saved the village and protected everyone. There's nothing wrong with wanting them to keep on the path."

Ffion wasn't impressed. Her grey eyes flashed to Alistair and she knew the ex-Templar would be more inclined to go along with Teagan than any of the others. Indeed, he was looking at her now with such a beseeching expression in his honey colored eyes that she felt guilty before words were even spoken. She heaved a sigh, resigning herself.

"If there ever happens to be a next time, Teagan, a little forewarning, please," She commented and then added, "And I still hold to the belief that this is a decision for the Arl and Arlessa."

"That doesn't do us any good though, Ffion," Alistair cut in, determined to divert any talk of drastic measures before it could begin, "Considering Eamon's condition."

"Which was Jowan's fault to begin with," The Bann was just as annoyed as any of them and Jowan's wince went ignored as the argument continued.

"And so the talking in circles commences," Zevran said quietly.

Leliana, knowing Ffion would do whatever she could to secure that Jowan's fate was left to the Arl, was able to find the humor in that comment and she giggled. Even Morrigan seemed rather amused and while Wynne sent them an annoyed look, Ffion merely smiled in a distracted sort of way. Her eyes were landing on Sten's and the Qunari lifted his powerful shoulders.

"The Elf has a point," He agreed, "And this does that Arl no favors. The man's sickness is such that it would be kindest to execute him. I don't see a return from this otherwise."

Isolde inhaled sharply and Conner let out a little moan of fear. The Arlessa's face was white and her hands tightened on her son. Horrified eyes locked on the Qunari and she spoke fiercely,

"No, you won't touch him. Eamon will get well. The Urn of Sacred Ashes is being sought out and-"

"Lady Isolde," Wynne's voice was gentle as she cut in, "Your son has been through enough. Perhaps it would be best to put him to bed and then we can discuss this freely."

Isolde looked down at Conner as though surprised to discover he was still there and then, with an expression of keen protectiveness, she bent and kissed the top of his head. Her voice softened as she murmured to her boy and together, they got to their feet. They disappeared and the others, out of respect for the fact that it was _her _husband they were discussing, waited to continue until she came back. And Irving helped with the distraction.

"Ffion, our work here is done," He told her, "We must return to the Circle and oversee the restoration there, but when you require aid, you need merely to say the word. I will be leaving Gaile here to watch over the boy and the Arlessa has already agreed to send him to us when this Blight is settled."

"And that's more than we could ever ask for," She replied, "Thank you, First Enchanter, saving Conner is... it will mean everything if we can get the Arl back."

Irving was smiling gently at her and reached to grasp one of her hands in his. His hazel eyes were affectionate and kind as they looked her over and he gave her a bow. He spoke again and this time, the words were for her ears only,

"Keep listening to your heart, my dear, there is a light there that will shine in the darkest places in this world."

Ffion only had time to give him a nod and then Isolde was returning and Irving was approaching her. The mages departed and Gaile, the Elven woman who agreed to be left behind, went up to keep watch over her charge.

"The Urn of Sacred Ashes, huh?" Ffion muttered as she leaned against the table the mages had used.

Morrigan was next to her and she sent the Warden a half annoyed, half amused look.

"'Tis a madness to which I am sure you will agree."

"Predictability always leaves you prepared, Morrigan," Ffion answered, letting the insult roll off her, "That's not a bad thing, is it?"

"It is not madness," Isolde cut in, her anger rushing back at Morrigan's flippant tone, "There is a scholar, a Brother Genitivi, that has made it his life's work to find the Urn. I have been funding his research and I know that he was making great strides. He is based out of Denerim. If you were to seek him out, he would do what he could to help you. He owes me that much."

Ffion and Alistair exchanged dismayed looks and Morrigan let out a derisive snort. Sten had resumed his vigil at the window, though now he turned, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Denerim?" He repeated, "Walking straight into the viper's nest? _That _is madness."

"He's right, lady," Alistair said slowly, "I want to help Eamon any way I can, but Loghain is actively trying to kill us and it'd be insane to go to Denerim now. Especially without allies."

Zevran was grinning broadly at this and he gave the ex-Templar a slight bow, acknowledging his role in the 'active killing' part. His amber eyes were dancing, but he agreed with Sten.

"No need to mention the fact that it would take perhaps a week and a half, at least, to get there," He added, "And I am not enamored of the idea to return just yet."

Teagan looked thoughtful. He was running one hand through his short brown beard and his blue eyes met Alistair's.

"With Conner back to... well, normal, I guess, the village should be safe from that threat," He stated, "And that frees up some of the guards. I can send a few of my most trusted men and you can rest easy that they will return with whatever information you need. You need my brother in this fight against Loghain, and as farfetched as this idea of the Sacred Ashes is, it's our only option."

"But the Blight has to be our priority," Sten was not asking, he was stating a fact that no one could argue with, "The treaties need to be fulfilled."

"And so our focus stays the same," Leliana cut in, "We can approach the Dwarves next. That keeps us in relatively the same area, no? And then word from you, Bann, can reach us with a little more ease."

Ffion liked this. She was relaxed against the table, no longer at the forefront and letting everyone else make the decisions. At least, she liked it until all eyes turned to her with that questioning gleam she was beginning to hate.

"And our dove is put upon once more."

Zevran's voice was right in her ear and she jumped. The damn Elf moved more quietly than Leliana! Her grey eyes found Teagan.

"Send your men, Teagan," She said, "Leliana's right: we'll head to Orzammar."


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N:** Couple of things: I have **no** idea how old Harrowmont actually is, so don't take that age as fact, and I picked him because he was much less of an ass then Bhelen. (Sorry to any Bhelen fans!) Also, and this is completely random, this scene with Ffion and Alistair happens to be one of my favorites so far. Enjoy!

* * *

Lord Pyral Harrowmont hastened after the king's second in command. He had been summoned in the middle of the night and, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he knew that this wasn't good.

King Endrin Aeducan had been ailing at an alarming rate ever since the death of his eldest son and subsequent banishment of the second. The details surrounding the death of Trian Aeducan were murky at best, but Harrowmont's suspicions were that the king's youngest boy, Bhelen, was behind everything. It was a little too convenient that Bhelen had known something was wrong the instant the expedition into the Deep Roads began, and the trouble only grew when he led his father and the other soldiers directly to his older brothers.

They had found Duran crouching beside Trian with the scout, the Dwarf nobleman Frandlin Ivo, and Duran's second, all of whom had accompanied the prince. Trian and his men were dead, killed by Dwarves, considering the wounds, and Bhelen was very eager to point out that Duran and his men were the first upon the scene. The scout and Ivo both confessed to watching Duran and Trian argue and then start fighting, and it was Duran and Gorim's word against the evidence spread before the king.

Endrin, as much as it pained him, couldn't see any other way this could have happened, and so had his son arrested. Gorim was banished to the surface world while Duran was given some semblance of honor and allowed to fight to the death in the Deep Roads. The young Dwarf had accepted this bravely, never once faltering in his proclamations of innocence. He was seen off by Harrowmont himself and he went with the knowledge that one of his father's most trusted men believed him.

Not that it did Duran any good. Harrowmont knew that Bhelen was devious, ruthless, and jealous enough to strike down anyone that stood between him and his father's throne, but Endrin was proud. And no matter how much he favoured his middle son, he wasn't about to go back on his word. Especially not when most of the city seemed to believe Bhelen's story. A clever ruse, no doubt, considering how popular Duran had been in Orzammar.

But Duran had inherited his father's stiff-neck, which was one of many traits that would have made him a venerable power-house; and he would accept an invitation to return to his family and palace only if Bhelen agreed to confess everything. And Endrin couldn't give him that. Bhelen was not about to admit fault, of course, and with Ivo and the scout's testimony, Duran's fate was sealed.

And now the king was dying.

"Is the Prince Bhelen with him?" Harrowmont asked as he was led towards the king's chambers.

"No, my lord," Danso answered. He had been with Endrin for the past 30 years and Bhelen had been his least favorite of his master's sons, so the animosity in his voice was unsurprising, "His majesty has barred the prince from his room and instead requested you. He places trust in your discretion and loyalty, Lord Harrowmont, and only wanted you to be present."

Danso opened the door to Endrin's chambers and stood back. Harrowmont started forward and then hesitated. He suddenly felt every one of his 56 years and he glanced at the king's man rather imploringly.

"I am not ready for this, Danso," He said heavily, "But if the worst should happen, you have a place in my household. We need men like you."

Danso bowed, murmuring his thanks, and Harrowmont went to Endrin's bedside. He couldn't help but be shocked by the change in his old friend and king. In the past week since all of this had happened, Endrin had become an old man. Endrin, who had always been lively and spry; always ready for any challenge, real or imagined; who had been able to keep up with the soldiers on any expedition, night and day. And here he was, about to give up the life he had loved so much and return to the Stone.

The physician on the other side of the bed was closing his case of potions and pills and meeting Harrowmont's gaze over the slumbering king. This was the same family physician that had nursed the queen in her final days and he himself was looking his age.

"There is nothing more to be done, my lord," He said quietly, "The king has just lost his will to live and without that..."

Endrin's eyes blinked open and he looked around briefly before speaking.

"Leave us," Despite his appearance, the king's voice was strong and his brilliant bluish-white eyes were alert, "I need to speak with Lord Harrowmont alone."

The physician bowed and left without a word. Harrowmont sank onto the low chair beside the bed and gave Endrin a small smile. The king was steeling himself for this conversation and, as usual, he was getting right to the point.

"I need you to promise me something, Pyral," He said softly, reaching with one hand and grasping Harrowmont's with a brotherly affection, "Please, this one last thing."

Harrowmont, hating these conversations, was proving his eternal optimism. He forced his voice to lightness as he answered,

"What are you talking about, Highness? You will be up and ordering everyone about in no time."

Endrin snorted and then closed his eyes briefly.

"Thanks, my old friend, but you and I both know that's bullshit," He replied and was once more the King of Orzammar, "I need this, Pyral."

"Than I'm your man, Endrin, you know that," Harrowmont was all seriousness now and his face was just as grave as Endrin's, "Whatever you need, just ask."

"Don't let Bhelen take over here," It was clear it pained Endrin to say this, but he continued because it needed to be said, "I was a damn fool for sending Duran to the Deep Roads, but what's done is done and now we need to prevent Bhelen from ruling Orzammar. It would be a disaster, Pyral, and instead I want you to watch over the city."

Harrowmont was speechless. He sat back in the chair, gaping at Endrin. When he had said 'anything', he wasn't expecting _that_ and he felt himself shrink inwardly at such a burden. His grey-blue eyes were wide and he shook his head a little.

"Endrin, I-"

"Don't argue with me, Pyral," The king interrupted, "I don't mean forever, I know you'd hate me if I suggested that. I just mean for now. At least until you and the others find someone that won't drive Orzammar into the ground. Please, Pyral, I know you're to be trusted."

"You always did ask the impossible, Endrin," Harrowmont muttered, which was as good as agreeing.

The king smiled, knowing victory when he saw and heard it. His eyes drifted shut and he let out a sigh that was relief itself.

"And you would have joined me in gaining it," He said and his voice was growing softer. He shifted and winced. If this was the end, it was much easier than he thought, "That's why it has to be you. Will you promise?"

"You know I will," Harrowmont clasped his friend's hand for the last time and squeezed briefly, "Rest in peace, Endrin, you've missed your queen for far too long."

Endrin sighed again and had to agree with Harrowmont. His queen, his wife, his Sereda, had been waiting for him and that was about to end. He drifted off, knowing that, in Harrowmont's capable hands, Orzammar was safe and secure.

* * *

Ffion was sitting at the campfire for maybe a quarter-hour before Alistair came back. She looked up at him in surprise, thinking that he had already gone to bed. After all, he had just come off his watch and considering that it was probably after two in the morning, she just assumed he'd gone right to sleep. But she smiled at him anyway and cocked her head a little when he flushed a bright pink.

"Is there something wrong, Alistair?" She questioned and frowned when he turned a deeper red.

"No," He said quickly and then added, "I just... I wanted...Oh, Maker's breath! I wanted to give you something."

She smiled at him in confusion and then waved for him to sit beside her. Her grey eyes were amused, but in a gentle way, and she was so understanding that it was making this so much worse. He had never done this sort of thing before, but Ffion deserved someone better than _Zevran_ to tell her that she was something special in this hell they found themselves.

"Well, sit down, then and let's have it," She was teasing him and, for whatever reason, that made it more difficult.

"No, I don't need... It's nothing, just... Well, this reminded me of you and... Here," He finished abruptly, holding out one hand, and extending his gift to her.

She blinked up at him, confusion deepening at his obvious embarrassment. Her grey eyes landed on his hand and she felt her lips part a little. Her own hand left Tilly's head and she accepted the beautiful crimson rose from the ex-Templar. It had only partially opened before it was plucked and was the most intriguing color of red. The only roses she remembered seeing on their travels were in Lothering, but with how lively this one was that couldn't possibly be; and she held the blossom to her nose, inhaling the sweet perfume. She spun it between her fingers and looked up at Alistair again.

"This is for me?" She questioned slowly, feeling her own cheeks starting to color.

Alistair shrugged, looking even more bashful, though now there was something rather defiant in his expression as though they were arguing instead of discussing this.

"I just... You've been so great with all of this. I mean, here I am whining and complaining about everything and you have been doing so much for... for everyone. You had the chance to end things quickly with Conner's problem and instead you decided to get more help. You've been risking your life and you saved those innocent mages when you didn't have to. Ffion, you deserve some sort of recognition and when I saw that rose bush in Lothering, I couldn't help but take one of the blooms," Alistair's burning cheeks were returning to their proper color when it was clear that Ffion wasn't taking offense at his rather personal gift and he continued before he could lose heart, "I mean, with the Blight coming, that bush was going to be destroyed anyway and there these were, blooming in spite of... of everything. Something about them reminded me of you even then."

Ffion was about as red as the rose now and she didn't look up at him as she asked,

"What do you mean?"

It was clear that she wasn't playing coy, she really didn't understand why Alistair would give her such a thing.

"I remember thinking: how could something so pretty and innocent survive this Blight, and then I thought of you. Your spirit is wonderful, Ffion, and you've proved yourself to be light and color in this growing darkness."

Alistair felt that he had been clumsy with that, but Ffion was beaming at him now, her face flushed to her hairline. She inhaled the scent of the rose again and then met his gaze.

"Thank you, Alistair," She murmured softly.

"So that was the right thought?"

She smiled again and, with the firelight flickering off her face and her eyes made soft by happiness, she was just as, if not more, beautiful than Morrigan.

"Yes, that was the right one," She replied, "It's a lovely thought, Alistair. Thank you."

The ex-Templar took this as a true invitation to sit beside her, nevermind her previous one, and he studied her a moment.

"I – I didn't mean to embarrass you, Ffion, or put you on the spot," He said slowly, still not sure how he became so bold as to give this girl a rose. She was his sister in the Wardens and he wondered why it was so much harder to see her in that light than the other women Wardens he had met. At first, he had thought it was merely the fact that they were the only two left in Ferelden, that they knew of, and now he wasn't sure, "It was just a thought. And I couldn't give it to you at any other time because... well, I just couldn't. You know with-"

"Everyone around?" She interrupted just as slowly, wondering when she'd turn her proper color again.

"Well, yeah," He sighed and rubbed his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers and trying to stifle a yawn, "Listen, Ffion, you don't have to keep it just to be nice. I can-"

"No!" She exclaimed quickly and involuntarily tightened her hand around the stem. Her blush felt permanent and her grey eyes met his and then flickered away, a sudden desire to change the subject taking over, "No, no need. Besides, I need to return the favor."

It was Alistair's turn to frown as Ffion hurried to her tent and came back with something clasped in one hand. He saw with a thrill of pleasure she had tucked the rose absentmindedly into the chocolate colored curls that, in spite of being bound with a leather strap, cascaded down her back. She perched next to him again and unwrapped the bundle.

"Teagan thought that this might mean more to you than him," She said distractedly as she fought one of the ties, "He found it in Eamon's desk while looking for... something, I don't remember. He wondered if you might know where it came from."

She succeeded in tugging the handkerchief loose and picked up a slender silverite chain. There was a Chantry amulet hanging from this and she extended it to him with a questioning expression. Alistair took it carefully in one hand and studied it closely. His own expression was changing into one of complete awe as he ran his fingers gently over the hairline cracks in the silver medallion. The iconic symbol of Andraste's flame was scarred, but someone with the patience of the gods themselves had pieced this together again after it was shattered.

"Where... How did..." Alistair's voice trailed off and he tried again, "I don't understand."

Ffion frowned, her embarrassment taking a backseat to Alistair's speechless wonder.

"So it does mean something," She wasn't asking and she leaned her elbows on her knees and cupped her chin in one hand, looking at him intently, "What is it?"

"It – it was my mother's," The ex-Templar was speaking softly, slowly, and he was afraid to let go of the amulet, worried that it might disappear if he did, "It was the only thing that I had of hers after her death. When I found out that I was being shipped to the Chantry because Isolde was afraid of the rumors that pegged me as Eamon's son, I threw this against the wall in my room. I was so angry with him for sending me off just like that and it was something I regretted forever. I never thought that he would – that I meant enough to him that he should..."

"Repair it?" Ffion offered and felt her heart soften even more towards him. It was... interesting, to say the least. Zevran made her feel like a woman, like she was... desired; while Alistair turned her back into Ffion Cousland, the Teyrn and Teyrna's stubborn, innocent daughter. He made her feel like she was with Gilmore again and that was the feeling she wanted to chase, "Maybe – maybe you meant more to him than you ever guessed, Alistair. It's clear he went to a lot of trouble to put that back together. I think he meant for you to have it again and I'm just glad that I could be the one to help."

"Nevermind the circumstances?" He was only partially serious and his eyes were still on the medallion.

"Nevermind the circumstances," She answered and smiled at him. He was telling her so much of his past; _trusting_ her with so much that she instantly felt guilty, "Alistair-"

He interrupted her by leaning forward and wrapping one arm around her shoulders in an affectionate, brotherly embrace. She was shocked by this and remained unmovable for a moment before patting his back fondly.

"Thanks, Ffion," He said quietly, "You don't know how much this means to me."

"Brother and sister in the blood, right?" She answered, her tone light.

"Darkspawn taint," He corrected as he pulled back with that crooked grin, "And yes. Now, I need some sleep, so let's forget about the awkward conversations until morning."

She returned the grin and self-consciously touched the rose in her hair.

"Let's," She agreed, "Good night, Alistair."

"Good night, Ffion, and thank you again. You're a true friend."


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N:** A little side note, we lost my dad to cancer two days ago and I'm going to try to keep up with the writing, but if I start slacking off, you'll know it's not because I've deserted you. Take care and I wish all my readers the best Thanksgiving and Christmas. - A very heavy-hearted catalina

* * *

"Wasn't it summer just down the hill?" Alistair questioned as they trekked the last steep incline.

"Summer? In the Frostback Mountains?" Ffion answered and swept a loose curl back, "A little farfetched, don't you think?"

The ex-Templar grinned at her, his eyes dancing. They had made as good time as they could to Orzammar, but everyone had seemed to forget the elevation of the Dwarven city. It had started snowing the second night they hiked into the foothills, the Frostbacks not caring that it was supposed to be summer; and Leliana and Morrigan had both started sneezing. The witch was losing her voice, much to Alistair's pleasure, while Leliana was annoyed that she couldn't sing the ballads she usually did at the evening campfire. Wynne was a miracle worker with her health potions and Zevran, once they let him near the food, proved a master at concocting a spiced wine that warmed them from the inside out. Ffion had had to scrounge into her pack, berating herself for not thinking through this part of their travels, before finding anything remotely warm. Here Sten ended up being her salvation. He had the forethought that she lacked and the second morning had dropped a very heavy fur-lined cloak around her shoulders. The weight of it had staggered her just as much as his act of kindness and she made a mental note to do something for the big Qunari the first chance she got.

So far, it hadn't happened and Sten was resolutely bringing up the rear of their party. He was leading the little donkey that Owen, in a gesture of grateful thanks for finding Valena, had given to Ffion. Which was about the best thing anyone could have gifted. The sturdy little animal, Syd, was about three years old and very healthy. He accepted his fate without trouble and they had loaded him with the cooking gear, tents, extra weapons, and everything else they wouldn't immediately need. Syd had taken to Sten and, shocking everyone, the Qunari actually liked the donkey. He had taken the animal's lead in one huge hand as they left Redcliffe and Syd's big brown eyes fixed on the Qunari with absolute trust. Alistair was hard pressed to keep quiet about this one, but he was doing a good job. Ffion and Leliana had both been inclined to giggle every time they looked back and saw the pair, while Morrigan was faintly disgusted and the others accepted it without question; though Tilly seemed to think Syd was a new playmate and Ffion had to prevent the hound from chewing the donkey's tail to bits.

"'Twould be wise to hold a moment," Morrigan, her normally honey-like voice scratchy, was right behind Ffion.

The Warden glanced back at her only to see that the witch was nodding towards a group of a half dozen surrounding a small campfire. They were bundled in cloaks, and stooping closer to the warmth of the fire as they tried to escape the chilly wind and scattered snowflakes. Just beyond them was a beautiful stone bridge and beyond that were two stone pillars with Dwarvish runes etched into their surfaces. They had finally reached Orzammar, but the group around the fire was out of place. Two of them glanced back at Ffion's band and then bent forward again, clearly fumbling for something that was hidden by the other cloaked figures.

"That was subtle, yes?" Zevran commented and he pulled his blades from his back with only a whisper of metal on metal.

"Wait, Zev, you don't-"

"I told you that I am your man, dear one," He interrupted and motioned to the group with the point of one sword, "Those there are very poor assassins. Bounty hunters, if you want to be blunt and honest."

Ffion was still hesitating, feeling her anger starting to take hold. They were within a few minute's walk after traveling for 5 ½ days, three and the half in snow and bitter winds, and she was irritated by this new hurdle.

"But how can you be sure?" Wynne asked, her blue eyes concerned with the fact that they might be killing innocents.

"I am not here because of my looks, my Wynne," Zevran replied, his smile feral, "I should think I would know another assassin when I see one. We can approach and let them attack first, if you wish."

Ffion gave a nod and they pressed on, only to discover that the Elf was right. The group attacked as Ffion's band was crossing the bridge and Syd panicked. He darted over the bridge and disappeared around a bend while everyone was busy with the would-be assassins. They had two mages with them as well and the one turned out to be a blood mage. He had stepped back and tugged loose a dagger. Alistair saw this movement before anyone else and he put his Templar training to use. The blood mage proceeded with stabbing his hand, but the magic was successfully cut off from him.

Unfortunately it cut Morrigan and Wynne off too. Morrigan, in the midst of casting, was suddenly flailing but she thought quickly, ramming her staff into the face of the man that was coming for her and then knocking him into Sten's path. Wynne, standing back at a safe distance, let out a curse that was out of place for the normally motherly Enchanter. But Ffion, Tilly, Zevran, and Sten were not about to let the other enemies break free from the melee attacks. They made quick work of the other bounty hunters and Leliana took out the last one that was aiming for Sten's exposed back.

Morrigan swung her staff to her back and whirled on Alistair. Her gold eyes were snapping and her distaste for the ex-Templar more obvious than ever.

"What were you thinking?" She demanded, her weak voice drifting in and out but the anger as strong as ever.

"He was using blood magic," Alistair snapped, "Did you want me to let him?"

"Watch before you use that," The witch couldn't argue with that statement and neither could she let him win this one, "I thought you were a Warden, not a Templar."

"Enough," Ffion said firmly, noting that Zevran was watching this with amusement.

Leliana had gone after Syd, Wynne was looking over the scattered bodies for any survivors, and Sten was cleaning the blood from his blade. Alistair and Morrigan both ignored Ffion and the argument went on.

"So I guess next time you _want_ me to just ignore a blood mage and let him take all of us out?" Alistair shot back.

The witch drew herself up and didn't shy away from the drawn sword in Alistair's hands. Whatever the ex-Templar had done to interrupt the spells was gone and the others could feel the magic surrounding Morrigan now.

"Next time, fool, 'twould be wise to remember that affects your own party as well as your enemies."

"I said enough," Ffion repeated more loudly when Alistair flushed with anger and was about to retaliate. She waited until she was sure the snide comments were over and then let her gaze sweep the bodies much as Wynne's had done, "Sten, would you help me here?"

The Qunari bent forward and simply heaved the body Ffion was motioning to up and over his shoulder. His violet eyes met hers as she blinked in surprise. She had meant for him to take the arms and leave the feet to her, but this worked too.

"Where do you want them?" He asked, faintly amused by her reaction.

"Um, well, over the hill, I guess," She answered.

Wynne made a protesting noise, her blue eyes locking on the young Warden.

"Ffion-"

"That's the most I can do for them, Wynne," She interrupted, understanding how the Enchanter was feeling, "At least it's better than leaving them here for all to see. Besides, we couldn't have expected any better treatment from them if they had been successful."

Leliana returned with Syd and they cleared away the bodies, taking up anything that would serve them in their own travels, before heading on. They found themselves in an open canyon that was the only place amongst the sheer cliffs of the Frostbacks that the Dwarves had found to install their massive city gates. In the center of this sole, flat area was a stone stage of sorts and there was a handful of merchants' tents that flanked it. Only two of the merchants were actually Dwarves and as they approached the intimidating city gates, Sten stopped dead in his tracks. He was standing in front of a weapon smithy's tent and studying the wares intently. The redheaded man overseeing the place finished up with his current customer and then turned to the Qunari with a ready smile.

"Greetings, ser, is there something in particular that you're looking for?" He questioned jovially and then floundered when Sten merely glared at him.

Ffion, hearing the merchant's voice was glancing over her shoulder and she stopped, a frown creasing her face. Sten's violet eyes were blazing and he reached out with one hand to brush the hilt of a wicked looking broadsword.

"How does one like you come by a Karashok's blade?" He asked, animosity thick in his voice.

"I – It is a marvelous sword, isn't it?" The merchant was uncertain when confronted by Sten's fierce expression, "There was a merchant around Lake Calenhad that-"

The Qunari suddenly had the man by the front of his heavy woolen shirt, yanking him partially over the blade-covered table and knocking several of them to the frozen ground.

"Let us try this again," Sten ground out, holding the man captive in spite of his struggles, "Where did you get the Karashok's blade?"

The merchant was white, making his hair an even more vibrant color of red and his terrified eyes rolled around to lock on Ffion as the Warden hurried to interfere. His hands were pulling futilely at Sten's grip and when he spoke, it was to Ffion.

"Please, serah," He gasped, "D – Don't let him kill me!"

The others were too shocked by Sten's sudden eruption to really be of help and so it was Ffion who reached out and put one hand on his arm.

"Sten, what's going on?" She asked, her frown deepening, "It's just a sword. If you want it-"

"That is not the point," He snapped, his voice turning into more of a growl.

The Warden floundered, looking at the others rather helplessly, not sure what to do about the pissed off Qunari. Her fingers were biting into Sten's metal gauntlet and the cold of the air had transferred to the metal itself, making her fingertips tingle as they chilled through her leather gloves. She was at a loss and wondered how much easier it would be to just let Sten have his way with the merchant, and then Zevran came to her rescue.

"It is a question of honor," The Elf's accented voice was rich and smooth. He knew what he was talking about and pressed on when no one else interrupted him, "This has to do with your Beresaad, yes? And since your Karashok is not with his sword, that means he didn't make it. Good man, if you have any other Qunari blades, I would give them to this one. Unless of course, you want to go about your life without arms?"

"Alright, alright," The merchant was looking rapidly from Zevran to Sten and he went still when the Qunari grasped him even more tightly, "It wasn't a merchant that I got these from; there was a scavenger. He claimed to be a survivor of Ostagar and was selling weapons to pay for a meal. He had a whole roll of these Qunari blades and on the road up here, I ran into a Dwarf that was making his way to Redcliffe... Dwyn was his name. He bought almost the whole set of blades and that was that. I don't know where these came from originally and that's the Maker's truth. Please, don't kill me."

Sten glared a moment longer and then abruptly released the merchant so that he fell across his table. The Qunari took up the sword that had caused the trouble and turned to fasten it to the packs on Syd's back. Once that was done, he took the donkey's lead in his hand again and started to the Orzammar gates, ignoring the others as they gaped at him.

Flustered and irritated, Ffion hurried to fall in beside him and stared up at him with hard grey eyes. She tossed her head to knock her hair out of the way and almost reached out to stop the Qunari, but than thought better of it.

"Are you going to tell me what the hell that was?" She finally demanded when he didn't say anything.

"No," Sten's deep voice was firm and still angry.

Ffion's anger bubbled but she kept it in check. Instead she tried an entirely different tactic and let out a sigh that sounded long-suffering even to her.

"Fine, then, when we get back to Redcliffe, we'll look Dwyn up and see what happened to those other swords."

That was successful. Sten faltered in his step, his violet eyes going to her in stunned surprise. His lips parted briefly and then closed again and he frowned.

"Why?" He asked, "This has nothing to do with you."

"Sure it does," She answered promptly, "You pledged yourself to me, Sten. You told me that your blade is mine until I see fit to release you and that makes us comrades-in-arms. Besides, you can't avoid telling me what this is about after I help you get those swords back."

Zevran and Wynne were laughing as Alistair grinned and Leliana giggled. Even Morrigan was amused and Sten was baffled even further by this young Warden he had fallen in with. He shook his head in wonder, but it was Zevran that spoke next.

"Sten, a lesson in life, my friend. Never underestimate a woman's curiousity. She will thwart you at every turn."

"It seems so," Sten answered softly and was once again rather impressed by Ffion.

They approached the gates, only to see that they were in for more trouble. Four guards were posted in front of the massive things and one of them was standing forward, arguing with a group of five men. As they started up the steps and came close enough to see the crest on the men's armor, Alistair stiffened beside Ffion. She frowned up at him, pausing for a moment since the lead guard was too busy arguing to pay them much attention.

"Loghain's men," He muttered.

Ffion exhaled and studied the men more closely. Their leader was just about in a shouting match with the Dwarf and his face was tinted red with the anger and the cold. The other men were well armed and restless; they would be eager for any excuse to fight. Sten, Zevran and Leliana all seemed to read Ffion's thoughts and were hanging back before the Warden could even suggest it.

"It'd probably be better if you guys just wait here and let Alistair and I talk with the guard," She said anyway, motioning to one side of the landing they were standing on, "Just to... be on the safe side."

Not even Morrigan posed an argument and they settled themselves against the cold carved stone of the landing. Alistair and Ffion continued up the last two sets of steps and waited for the guard to acknowledge them.

"I've told you already, human, the city is shut down," The guard was saying, his voice sharper as he tried to keep himself under control, "The Darkspawn are something we deal with every day, so you can't expect us to jump to attention simply because your _general_ has decided to panic. Besides, the council is in disarray and without the council, I can't admit you entry. So for the last time: stand down."

"Excellently put," Alistair complimented as the Dwarf turned to them.

The guard arched his brows, clearly not in the mood for humor of any kind. Ffion tried to smother her grin and gave the Dwarf a slight bow. She had the Dwarven treaty ready and extended this to him as she straightened.

"I have Warden business in the city," She announced and honestly wasn't even thinking about the men that were listening closely.

"Wardens?" The lead man of Loghain's group repeated. He was glaring at her and Alistair both and then glanced quickly at the Dwarf, who was examining the treaty, "The Wardens were responsible for the king's death and General Loghain has issued all their lives forfeit. Are you simply going to let this stand? You can't stand there and do nothing while these murderers walk free!"

The guard was handing the treaty over to Ffion again and waving for the Dwarves to open the gates. He seemed to be ignoring the man completely, but his words were biting as he answered.

"Orzammar has the firmest allies in the Wardens and I know that they will be more welcome in this troubling time than General Loghain's lackeys."

"But-" The man started and his face was beet red now.

"Go running back to the Bastard General," Alistair mocked, "You won't be meeting with the Dwarves today."

The man considered them for a moment longer and then glanced at the Dwarves who seemed more inclined to help the Wardens than jump in with them. He spat at Ffion and Alistair's feet and spun on his heel, muttering curses underneath his breath as he left the city gates with his men in tow. Ffion's band was coming up the steps and approaching the Wardens and Zevran's amber eyes followed the men as they stormed across the open courtyard-like area and towards the road. There was a dangerously speculative gleam there that brightened when he noted the men were traveling by foot, but Ffion was talking with the Dwarf now and he turned his attention to her.

"Why have your people retreated like this?" She questioned as she tucked the treaty away again and pulled a fold of the heavy cloak closer to her neck, "Is it the Blight?"

"No, Warden," He said, his voice still gruff but he was much more polite to them than Loghain's men, "We deal with the Darkspawn nearly everyday and so you'll have to forgive our lack of concern. No, like you heard, our council has been dispersed. Most of the Deshyrs are too terrified and intimidated to show up and deal with this mess. I know news isn't traveling like it usually does so you probably haven't heard of the death of our King Endrin."

"King Endrin's dead?" Alistair repeated, disappointment and exasperation clear in his voice, "And with the council dispersed, that means you don't have a replacement yet."

"Exactly," The guard answered, "Whatever help you're looking for here, Warden, I wish you luck with it. I'm not sure how you'll get by without a healthy dose of that... and prayer."

He waved them in and, though Ffion wasn't sure how the hell they were going to go on from here, she led the way. Really, she didn't have any choice. And then they were standing in a massive hall that had been carved with all the skill that the Dwarves possessed and nothing seemed to matter anymore. All of them stood still for a moment and gazed around in wonder. Along the walls were massive statues of the Dwarven Paragons and between each were little spouts that were dumping lava into pools at the Paragons' feet. Down the center of the hall were more examples of the craftsmanship and Ffion couldn't help but gape as they headed for the next set of doors. She had read about Orzammar of course, but saw now that none of the descriptions did justice to the beauty here.

The next set of massive doors was opened for them by yet another guard who clearly doubted that this rag-tag group was being led by two Wardens. This opened into the Orzammar Commons and there, just in front of an intricately constructed signpost, were two groups of Dwarves arguing fiercely. It was clear that Ffion's band was catching the last of this confrontation and even as the guards came running to interfere, one of the Dwarves pulled a broad-axe from his back and stood forward. He was going practically toe-to-toe with another Dwarf who was shouting angrily,

"Bhelen is a murdering traitor who isn't fit to even look at his father's crown!"

The guards were just about to the two factions when the broad-axe went sailing through the air with that telltale _whoosh_ and sent the Dwarf's head rolling towards the steps.

"You won't talk that way about your king!" The murdering Dwarf shouted this as though it was a battle cry.

The others were tense, reaching for their own weapons, but the guards were shoving and jostling their way amongst them all. One of them was shouting as fiercely as the killer and his armor defined him as a more prominent figure.

"Alright, clear out! All of you!" He was commanding, "You there, get this body out of here and go back to your Deshyrs. I won't stand for diminishing the Ancestors by having this kind of fighting in front of surfacers."

The Dwarves cleared out quickly and the body was carried away by his fellows. The blood was mopped up by three Dwarven women who accepted the coins the guard captain dropped with an eagerness that was almost painful to see.

"Oh dear," Wynne murmured and that simple little statement summed up what they all felt.

Ffion squared her shoulders and approached the captain. She gave him a slight bow, drawing on all the training in etiquette her mother had forced on her.

"Atrast vala, ser," She said and straightened. She could feel Alistair's questioning gaze and Zevran's speculative one and ignored both as she continued, "I am Ffion of the Grey Wardens and this is Alistair, also of the Wardens. We spoke with the guard at the front gates about the treaty signed by your people promising aid should the Wardens require it."

"Well met, Warden," He replied, impressed with her formal greeting, "But there's not much that can be done here for you. I'm sure that Casla told you the state of our council and that... episode was just a taste of the unrest here."

"Perhaps, if you tell me the trouble, we can help?" She spoke slowly, not wanting to promise anything without seeing the whole picture, "The Wardens need their traditional Dwarven allies and if that means returning favors for favors, so be it."

"Are there no people left that can solve their own troubles?" Sten muttered angrily, loud enough to be heard by everyone.

The captain's gaze flickered to him and then went back to Ffion. He studied her a moment and then capitulated.

"I don't like the idea of involving surfacers with our issues, but maybe you can talk some sense into those Deshyrs," He seemed to be talking more to himself and then he added firmly, "Two weeks ago, the king's oldest son, Prince Trian, was killed during a Deep Roads expedition. The blame was laid at his brother, Prince Duran's feet and the prince was banished to the Deep Roads. There are those that believe Prince Bhelen was responsible and since King Endrin called on Lord Harrowmont instead of his own son while he was dying, there's a rumor circulating that even the king believed this. Harrowmont claims that the king left the ruling of Orzammar to him while the council looked for a better replacement than Bhelen and the prince is fighting that tooth and nail. The whole city has been fractured and as you saw, they have taken the fight out of Dust Town and into more public arenas. It's done nothing but make my job more difficult and if you really think you can help here, Warden, I won't stop you. In fact, I'll give you the names of Bhelen and Harrowmont's stewards and let you talk with them. Bhelen's is Vartag Gavorn and Harrowmont's is Dulin Forender. They'll both be in the Diamond Quarter," He glanced beyond her at the rest of the party and added helpfully, "And here in the Commons, there's an inn and tavern called Tapsters. You should be able to find beds and a stable pretty easily since trade with the outside has taken a hard hit."

She smiled faintly, hearing the dismissal in his voice without needing him to actually say the words. The Dwarf had indicated the left hand staircase and Ffion could see the Tapsters sign hanging above the door. She gave him another little bow.

"Thanks for your help, and wish us luck. Atrast tunsha," She said and waved for the others to follow her down the steps.

They settled at Tapsters without issue, paying for only three rooms since prices were what they were. Syd was happily ensconced in the stable with a full trough and water bucket and Ffion and Alistair decided that the sooner they spoke with the stewards, the better. Leliana and Wynne were more curious about the shops in the Commons than the politics and Morrigan, still feeling poorly, had retreated upstairs to get proper rest. Zevran also disappeared after sampling one of the Dwarven ales, and Sten and Tilly trailed after the Wardens as they made their way to the Diamond Quarter.

Unfortunately, they didn't gain ground with either of the stewards. Ffion, since she remembered her father having nothing but good things to say about Harrowmont, went to him first. Only to discover that he was so paranoid about Bhelen's spies or assassins reaching him that he refused to see anyone: even Wardens. And when they tried Bhelen's steward, they found that news traveled more quickly in Orzammar than anyone would have thought. He was hostile and standoffish, not about to let them near his master simply because they had tried Harrowmont first. So they went back to Tapsters, tired and annoyed in Ffion's case, only to find that Zevran still hadn't returned.

Ffion felt little pin-pricks of unease... and jealousy, if she was being honest with herself, but shrugged off any serious implications and instead accepted the glass of deep red wine that Leliana pushed towards her. Zevran had sworn himself to her and so far had proven himself true. He was a man that fed his baser instincts whenever he got the chance and so, in spite of her initial response, she held to the belief that he wouldn't leave her for long. She also held herself to only two glasses of the red wine and could feel the alcohol swirling through her. Morrigan was still in the room that she would be sharing with Leliana; Wynne was lost in her own thoughts, stroking Tilly's ears; while Leliana and Alistair talked Chantry beliefs and practices with Sten looking on, faintly disgusted. Ffion wasn't really used to drinking and was horrified by what she might let slip if she had too much. And this rationing herself turned out to be a very good move.

Across the wide, long room was a dark haired Dwarf that was hunched over his mug as though seeking warmth. The barmaid had walked by him several times and was suddenly stopping to speak with him. Their words were too soft-spoken and the bar too loud to hear what was being said, but she gave the forlorn Dwarf a sympathetic smile and poured a half-mug for him, waving away his payment.

"Nora!" The innkeeper said, his voice fierce, "Just because some half-wit smiles at you doesn't mean you give him a drink on the house!"

"Give Ivo a break, Merkel," She shot back and sashayed over to another table where a group of what had to be regulars were sitting, "He's been through enough."

The innkeeper muttered darkly under his breath and, for some reason, Ffion felt compelled to get to her feet and approach Ivo. The Dwarf's black beard was practically drooping into his mug and when she sat across from him, he barely glanced up.

"Ivo?" She asked, ignoring the alarmed look that Alistair was throwing her, "Frandlin Ivo? The one that was with Prince Duran?"

Her voice was quiet, mindful of the other customers, and Ivo responded to this.

"One an' the same," His own voice was slurred, but he kept it at an undertone. His brown eyes fixed on her and they cleared ever-so-slightly before he was adding, "You're the Warden, right? The one that's promised t' help?" He stopped again, waiting for her nod and then going on, "Well, lemme give you a hand. I shoulda done this two weeks ago and damned if I know why I didn'. Bhelen's a bastard. He paid that scout and me off both t'say what he wanted t' hear and I've been a soddin' mess since then."

"What he wanted to hear?" Ffion repeated, her grey eyes quickening on his face. She'd had a bad feeling about Bhelen to begin with and she hadn't been sure how much was just her parents' old prejudice, "What do you mean?"

"He a'ways wanted King Endrin's throne and I shoulda seen he'd do anything t' get it," Ivo was speaking more to himself now... or rather, his mug, "He offered me whatever I wanted if I supported him in this one thing. And s'now, my sister isn't workin' Dust Town, my wife has everything she ever wanted, my kids can grow up without endin' up casteless. An' I couldn't feel more like a heartless, nug-humpin'... bastard. Prince Duran was a good man; a hundred times better than that..."

"Nug-humping bastard?" She asked and heard the amusement in her voice. She had no idea what a nug was but she liked the sound of it and wasn't above using it.

"'xactly," Ivo was leaning on his elbows, looking at her with appreciation, "Do me a favor, Warden, an' teach him a lesson in humility."

Ffion recognized the dismissal and got to her feet. She smiled at Ivo, at ease for the first time since they entered Orzammar, and stopped Nora as she walked by. Placing a few silvers on the girl's tray, she said jovially,

"Let this good Dwarf have whatever he wishes. On me."

She went back to her table with Ivo's thanks echoing in her ears. She saw that Leliana had had her goblet refilled and she didn't think twice about sitting down to it. Alistair's honey colored eyes were on her and she sent him a half-smile.

"And that was what?" He questioned, cocking his head.

"Just... gathering some information," She replied and then fell into her thoughts again.

She _really_ didn't like Bhelen and because of the fact that Harrowmont had earned her father's respect, she wanted to talk to him. As Ffion Cousland, not Ffion the Warden. And if she wanted to keep her anonymity, she would have to tread carefully.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: **A late happy Thanksgiving, take care.

* * *

So, as soon as everyone had gone to bed for the night, still without any sign of Zevran, she eased from her mattress. Across the room, Wynne was sound asleep in her own bed and her breathing didn't change as Ffion got to her feet and slipped back into her worn leather boots. Tilly was on her heels when she opened the door and sneaked down the stairs, making her way through the quiet streets to the Diamond Quarter once more.

She reached the Harrowmont estate without trouble and though the guards were not pleased with this late intrusion, she was able to gain entrance and drew all her nobility to her as she demanded an audience with Forender. The steward was not happy to be interrupted either and he was frowning long before he even entered the foyer.

"Warden," He said sharply, "I hope you have a good reason to be here so late."

"A very good one," She replied, her voice as cool as his was angry, "I'm going to try one more time. Tell Lord Harrowmont that he will want to meet with me. I have some very _interesting_ information considering one Frandlin Ivo and a certain payoff by Prince Bhelen. And if that isn't enough, let him know that Teyrn Bryce Cousland's daughter is eager to meet with King Endrin's most trusted adviser, and an old ally: Lord Pyral Harrowmont."

Forender looked at her a moment longer, like he was trying to find an argument around this, but he wasn't having any luck. With a sigh of frustration, he turned to go further into the mansion.

"Wait here, I'll see if Lord Harrowmont will agree."

He spoke grudgingly and Ffion let out her own, quieter, sigh and was sitting down on the little couch. She was looking at a window showing a cascade of lava. Her hand went to Tilly's head and her words bubbled up before she could stay them.

"Gladly. Thanks for the change of heart; it's really not as bad as you think."

She absentmindedly stroked Tilly's ears, wondering how she was going to go on from here if Harrowmont agreed to meet her. The Mabari had happily pillowed her head on her lady's knees and her brown eyes were closed as she enjoyed the attention. It was taking Forender longer than Ffion had believed it would and she propped one elbow next to Tilly's nose and nestled her chin into her palm. She hated being put in this position, especially considering the fact that she had a bed waiting for her. _A real bed!_ Her mind exalted. And yet, here she was, meeting with a Dwarf lord in the middle of the night, and wondering how she could convince him that he should support her and Alistair in this war against the growing Blight. If she hadn't done it so many times already, she'd be tempted to pinch herself to see if this was some sort of cruel, extended dream that the Maker forced on her for her indifference to him.

"I had heard that the Couslands were dead and buried some weeks ago," A new voice was startling her out of her thoughts.

The Warden slowly stood, letting her deliberate movements calm Tilly. She was looking at an older Dwarf this time, his face lined and worried. His once dark hair had started turning silver, along with the beard that was bound tightly in four braids. The grey-blue eyes were hard on her, but Lord Harrowmont was here and, at the moment, that was all that mattered.

"If you're worried about the rot," She spread her hands to let him look at her and added, "It's coming. Mine's a slow one."

She instantly regretted that statement, but the ingrained Cousland honesty and straight-forwardness seemed to convince Harrowmont. His mouth tipped in a small smile and he stepped forward, waving Forender away.

"You look like him, you know," He said, studying her so closely she felt self-conscious, "Your father had the same honest, direct eyes. He was a good man, Warden, and will be missed."

Ffion felt that tightening of her heart and she gave the Dwarf a nod, lowering her gaze briefly to her hands. She didn't want to get into that now, already knowing how good a man her father really had been. Remembering her manners, and the reason she had imposed in the first place, she stepped forward, extending one hand.

"Yes, he was; thank you, my lord," She replied and than shook hands with him, "My name is Ffion and thanks for agreeing to meet me."

Harrowmont nodded and waved her forward to sit again. He himself remained standing, a clear indication and reminder as to who the master of this house was.

"Well, I'm not sure what good meeting with you will do," He began bluntly, "I can't give you the support of the Dwarven people when they don't even know who their leader is."

Ffion inclined her head, not about to argue that point. Her fingers had gone back to Tilly's ears and when she spoke, it was to press very carefully around the more sensitive subjects.

"I know that you are a very noble people. You don't like to involve... outsiders with your problems," She paused for a moment and then added, "And even though Wardens are to remain a neutral party in anything political, I'm going to make an exception. I came here tonight to try one more time to convince you to trust me. My father never liked Bhelen, didn't really like Trian either, but he always spoke highly of the king, you, and Duran. King Endrin is dead, I understand that Duran is gone, and so that leaves you. Out of respect for my father's allegiance with you, Lord Harrowmont, will you accept my offer to help you here?"

Harrowmont looked at her for a very long moment, his grey-blue eyes unreadable. Ffion bit her tongue to keep from adding anything more and waited, rather impatiently, for his response.

"Such diplomacy must have come from your mother," He finally said quietly, "From past experiences with Bryce Cousland, he would either hold his own at the tavern or roll up his sleeves and help with the grunt work. That's what made him a good friend and ally. But this... I like this too. A favor for a favor, and your addition of you father's allegiance... Yes, that must be your mother talking. Agreed, if you help me beat back Bhelen and his supporters, I'll do whatever I can for you and the Order."

Ffion was too tired to even appreciate the compliment he had paid her. She was standing again and giving him a little bow as she sighed.

"That was... much easier than I thought," She commented, "Thank you, ser."

"You must understand why I've done it this way though?" It was just barely a question and Harrowmont was suddenly eager to make sure she didn't think less of him, "With everything in disarray and not knowing who was truly loyal and who was playing the politics game... I didn't have any other choice."

"Of course," Her tone was more impertinent than she wanted and she tried again, "I get it, my lord. These are uncertain times and we should have expected this. It was just... frustrating. Oh, and I have favor to ask. I'm traveling anonymously for my own reasons; not even my companions know that I'm a Cousland. Please, my lord, don't say anything about my family. I'm a Warden now and... that's that."

"I'll send a man to Tapsters in the morning with a message for the Wardens," He answered, frowning briefly but respecting this request, "All that needs to be said is that I have changed my mind and wish to meet with the Dwarves' closest allies."

Ffion felt relief sweep through her and allowed exhaustion to chase its heels. In this, at least, she had managed to get her way.

"And that more than settles the issue," She replied and one hand found Tilly's head again, "Thank you, Lord Harrowmont."

The Dwarf studied her again as they walked to the door. His grey-blue eyes were concerned and he said softly when her hand reached for the door handle,

"Try to get some sleep, Warden, you look like death."

And, because she was exhausted; because this meeting dredged up that anger, grief, and bitterness, making her feel irreverent, she heard herself say bitingly,

"Fitting, don't you think? For a Cousland?"

She slipped out the door and headed back to the inn without waiting for an answer. There were a few Dwarves still out and about, but they ignored Ffion with the same concentration that she ignored them. Indeed, she was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hardly realized someone was climbing the steps of Tapsters beside her. That is, until he spoke.

"Such a late night, my dear," The honey-like voice was unmistakable, but it still made Ffion jump, knocking into Tilly as Zevran continued, "Who was the lucky fellow?"

Her face flamed at that suggestion and then her anger flared up. Zevran was grinning at her in sheer pleasure, amused by her embarrassment, and not the least bit concerned with the uncertainty his absence had caused. Her grey eyes locked on his amber as she drew herself up.

"I might ask you the same thing," She shot back, irritation spiking sharply as the Elf's grin grew wider, "Where _did_ you go?"

"Crow business, dove, nothing about which you need to fret yourself."

Ffion leveled her gaze at him, crossing her arms over her chest, clearly unconvinced.

"You're not a Crow anymore," She pointed out bluntly.

"A fact I have not forgotten," His voice was blithe, the tone as carefree as ever, "If that title troubles you so much, we will call it assassin's business, yes? Either way, Loghain's men are no longer a threat. You can rest easy."

Ffion blinked at him, successfully shocked. She loosened her arms and eased her weight onto her other foot.

"Loghain's men? You mean you... you were tailing them all this time?"

His smile was the rather feral one, the flickering light glinting off his straight teeth and white-blonde hair.

"As I have told you, pet, twice now, yes? I am your man and contrary to what Chirpy and the lovely Morrigan tell you, my loyalties lie with you."

They entered the foyer, Zevran trailing after her and taking her light cloak from her shoulders on his own. She couldn't decide whether this was because he wanted to be in her good graces again or he saw it as a way to touch her, but she allowed it anyway.

"That doesn't mean it wasn't a stupid thing to do," Ffion continued with her arguments, in spite of trusting to that affirmation of his oath.

"The men were still angry and they were more concerned with their own comfort than keeping a watch," The Elf replied, shrugging nonchalantly as he draped her cloak over his arm and they headed for the stairs to the second floor, "And now it is your turn, yes? Just what _were_ you doing, dove?"

Ffion flipped one hand at him and adopted his 'never-you-mind' airs. They had paused at the base of the steps and she set about deflecting as best she could, not wanting to go into detail now.

"Making sure Harrowmont grants us an audience tomorrow," She met his gaze and couldn't help adding, "By pure methods, Zev, so no need for you to worry."

His amber eyes sparked and he had to jump at that opportunity.

"Pet, if I thought you were capable of anything _but_ pure methods, I would have seduced you that first afternoon. But innocence is a rare and charming gift and I want yours. And this is accomplished slowly and carefully, yes?"

The words were purred, caressing Ffion's ears in the way they were meant to, and her face flushed bright red to the roots of her dark hair. Her grey eyes brightened as well, but wouldn't meet his and he smiled a little, this time more gently. He was telling the truth about her innocence. It was wonderfully rare: finding a girl that was so easily embarrassed and flustered with just words, and he reminded himself for the hundredth time to _be careful_. He _did_ want her, that was no lie either, and was surprised to find himself waiting for her to be the one to offer. If he could help it, he wasn't going to take advantage of this girl who found herself in an impossible situation and needed his assistance, not another distraction. _And there is Chirpy..._ That little voice in his head had been suppressed and gagged for so long, it shocked him to hear it again, and then Ffion was interrupting.

"I – I know I'm not meant to take that seriously, Zevran; that you're teasing me," She began quietly, her face still burning, "But I... I'm not good at these conversations."

He cocked his head at her. Maybe he wasn't giving her enough credit. She certainly wasn't dumb and he wondered if her embarrassment really had that simple a reason.

"Do I make you uncomfortable, dove? You do not wish me to tease you so?" He asked, still purring, still charming, but it was not as thick as it had been.

She frowned rather pensively, reaching up to twist a curl of hair about her finger. It was an absentminded, reflexive move and he loved it.

"It's unexpected and... flattering, which is the idea," She was still speaking quietly and this time it seemed to be more to herself than him, "I'm just not sure what you want, other than to tease."

"I just told you, my dear. That was not a complete fabrication."

Her face flushed again and she dropped her hand. Letting out a sigh, she gave a little shrug and decided to land on the less painfully embarrassing subject.

"And the talking in circles commences," She muttered.

It was said with the same long-suffering and inflection that he had used several days ago and he couldn't help but chuckle.

"Very well, I will change the subject," He replied, eyes still dancing, "I am all curiousity as to how you accomplished the impossible. Only another noble could have reached the skittish Lord Harrowmont, and I see you have put yours to good use, yes?"

Ffion had started up the steps before him, but at his words, she froze. One of her hands was gripping the railing so hard her knuckles were white and she only partially turned to look back at him.

"What makes you think-"

"Tsk, tsk, Ffion," As usual her full name stopped her short and Zevran had her pegged with a particularly pointed stare, "I am no fool and you must know how I have been watching you. It is quite clear that you are no street urchin and you have had more formal education than practical experiences. Everything about you cries 'nobility', pet. Fighting for your life is a new challenge for you; your armor and weapons were made for you by a skilled master. Even the way you wear your lovely hair is a give-away."

The Warden had turned to face him. Standing on the first step brought her eye level with him and she knew that her face was an open book. Zevran leaned forward in a confiding sort of way, placing one hand on the railing so his fingers brushed hers. Her grey eyes were wide and alarmed and she started hesitantly,

"Zev, please-"

"Don't fret, I haven't said a word," His gaze was still fixed on her, "But I am correct, yes?"

She was torn, wanting to get away and knowing it wasn't going to happen. The alarm in her eyes had been replaced with a deep sadness that he didn't like. She shifted her weight back, feeling Tilly's warmth against her leg.

"It's – I can't... It's not that simple, Zevran," She replied, "But the short answer is: yes, I am nobility. And now isn't the time or the place for this... I can't, not now."

The Elf stared at her a moment longer and then gave a nod, easing back as well.

"Fair enough, dove, I will not push," He said and stepped beside her. One hand went to the small of her back, steering her up the steps with him, "Another time then. And do not think you will escape so easily when it comes."


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: **Shorter this time, but I'm still plucking away at it. Thanks for taking the time to read and sticking with me. All the best.

* * *

True to his word, Harrowmont's man showed up as they were eating breakfast. Alistair was discussing, or rather arguing, with Sten as to what their next step should be and he was the most surprised to see this. His honey colored eyes lit with relief as he leaned over, close to Ffion, and read the message over her shoulder.

"Then we're in," He commented and it was practically a crow of triumph.

"Maybe," Ffion answered, folding the note in half and nodding to the messenger, "We'll be there shortly."

Wynne was looking at her with a rather pensive frown. Pushing her plate away, the Enchanter propped her elbows on the table and lowered her voice to a murmur.

"You think this might be a trap, Ffion? Surely these Dwarves wouldn't go that far."

"Oh, I know Harrowmont can be trusted," The Warden was flippant, reaching for her coffee mug and ignoring that speculative look Morrigan sent at Zevran's amusement, "It's Bhelen I worry about. He won't take us supporting his enemy lightly, I'm sure."

Sten was snorting, pushing his own plate away and getting to his feet.

"I don't see the point in choosing either one," He commented, "Since they aren't strong enough to take up the mantle on their own. Assigning others to do their dirty work makes one wonder how badly they want this."

Ffion was standing as well, reaching up to twist her hair into a thick coil. She secured it and then tucked loose strands behind her ears. She tossed a sausage to Tilly and then shrugged her shoulders at Sten.

"Harrowmont is just supposed to hold the throne until someone suitable is found. That's the rumor, anyway," She added that last carefully, knowing she sounded far too sure of herself, "If he appoints Bhelen after we leave, so be it. It won't be our problem. All I need is a leader that can fulfill this treaty and give the Wardens what it promised."

They weren't given a chance to argue with her. Ffion went out the door and led the way to the Diamond Quarter and Harrowmont's estate. There were groups of suspicious looking Dwarves that watched them go with dark glares, but between the patrolling city guards and Sten's malignant scowl, there were no issues.

Forender was their only obstacle... again. He watched Ffion's band enter the estate and arched his brows at the sight of not just two Wardens, but a group of seven. He was reluctant to let them all see Harrowmont and Ffion responded by telling him that it was either everyone or no one. She was on the verge of walking out the door again when the Dwarf caved and saw everyone to Harrowmont's office.

Harrowmont was just as surprised as his steward. His brows went up and he watched them troop in. Forender announced them grudgingly and departed, closing the door behind him. Ffion stood forward and bowed, her eyes carefully guarded as the Dwarf lord spoke.

"I thought it was just two Wardens," He wasn't asking and he accepted Ffion's introduction of herself and Alistair without even a hint that he knew her already, "Or was the count mistaken at Ostagar?"

"Wardens collect friends when and where they need them," She replied, "Alistair says we have become a collection agency, but... apostates, Qunari, Chantry sisters, enchanters and assassins? What does it matter so long as they help you here and now?"

Harrowmont took no offense. She wasn't aiming her poison at him; it was more self-loathing than anything else. His shoulders lifted and he waved for them to come in further.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful," He said and paced around to stand behind his desk. His face darkened as he looked over some of the reports that had been turned in to him and then he was meeting Ffion's gaze once more, "Indeed, you have my thanks and support for seeing the truth in this unfortunate mess."

"We're here to help, ser," Leliana was putting in quietly.

Ffion inclined her head and stepped forward, Tilly beside her and Alistair at her other elbow.

"She's right," She was speaking briskly, wanting to get this over with and move on, "And first things first: what has to be done to get you installed here, my lord?"

Harrowmont had picked up a report and was reading it with some concentration before setting it down again and clasping his hands behind his back.

"Have you heard much of our troubles with the Carta?" He asked slowly.

Zevran, Leliana, and Wynne all answered an affirmative.

"The Carta seems to be everywhere," Zevran was saying, "Though I suppose like the Darkspawn, your dealings are more second nature, yes?"

Harrowmont acknowledged this and then glanced down at the desk again. This seemed to steel his resolve and his eyes were harder than before as he added.

"Usually that would be the case, but lately... Like most everyone else, the Carta has taken the chance with our unrest and become more prolific than ever. They circulate fear and trouble more readily than the Darkspawn ever could and have become a real problem. Something has to be done."

"And you want the Wardens to swoop to the rescue. That's it, right?" Alistair's voice was dry, the sarcasm thick.

Harrowmont at least had the where-with-all to appear shamefaced as he looked at them directly. His grey-blue eyes were rather defiant, but the underlying plea softened this.

"I know that it's not fair to put this on you, but we need help. I am not about to ask you to take on the Carta alone, I wouldn't dream of it. Just, find out what you can about their base and leader, Jarvia. My men are suspect of course, and the city-guards have done their best to remain neutral in this mess. It's commendable, but frustrating."

Ffion had to physically bite her tongue to keep from snapping at the Dwarf lord. She pushed one hand down onto Tilly's head and couldn't help but glance sidelong at Alistair, hoping that he would take over again here. Instead, it was Zevran that saved her and the Wardens were left scrambling for the proper response. It wasn't the best impression that they could have made, but at least the Elf was proving his usefulness for the umpteenth time.

"Very good," He drawled and was standing so close to his Warden that their shoulders were brushing, "That is very clever, yes? You accomplish killing two birds with one stone. Our dove will agree and not only do your people become safe, but you are made to look like a hero because you instigated this. Very clever indeed."

Harrowmont was still glancing between Ffion and Alistair, seeming to ignore the Elf.

"Then that's a yes?" He tried to clarify.

Ffion's jaw clenched, her fingers tightening briefly on Tilly's fur before letting the Mabari free. She met Harrowmont's forward gaze and nodded.

"That's a yes," She agreed and shrugged off Morrigan's sigh and Sten's muttering in his foreign tongue.

Harrowmont's relief was palpable. He allowed a small smile and they could see some of the tension leave his shoulders.

"Thank you, Warden," He said, "And like I said, find out what you can and then let us know. The best place to start would be Dust Town. The Carta is rampant there."

They left the estate and Ffion heaved a sigh, pressing her fingers to the space between her brows, wishing that she wasn't so tired. Wishing that she hadn't had to give up precious hours of sleep to help, and she used the word loosely, this Dwarf lord that was desperate to keep up his own appearance; wishing that she hadn't majorly stuck her foot in her own mouth with _agreeing_ to help the said Dwarf.

"Ffion," Alistair's voice was tender, worried, and that made it worse, "We-"

"No," She interrupted briskly, dropping her hand and giving herself a shake, "No, I'm fine. Let's head out."

"All of us?" Morrigan's voice was toneless other than the faux surprise, "You believe this wise?"

The young Warden glanced around at her party and then arched her brows at the witch. Morrigan's gold eyes were as unreadable as her tone, but Ffion swore she saw a flicker of Alistair's concern there.

"You don't like that idea?" She asked, "Any particular reason why?"

"Traipsing through Dust Town, asking about a criminal cartel that runs Orzammar?" Morrigan's concern was gone, if it had ever been there, "What could possibly go wrong?"

Alistair's eyes were flashing with annoyance. This was the last thing Ffion needed. The old girl was exhausted, practically dead on her feet, and the deep shadows under her eyes were not encouraging. He opened his mouth to snap back but, as usual, Zevran was faster.

"You both make fair points, my lovelies," He purred, "If we stick together, we have sheer intimidation by numbers. And apart we each have our special... contribution is the word, yes? So our only decision is: which to choose?"

"Contribution?" Wynne repeated and then smiled, "Yes, that's good. I like that."

"She's probably right, Ffion," Alistair was saying slowly, hating to admit it, "It would be better if it's just a few of us asking questions."

Ffion was quiet for a moment, thinking that over before conceding the point.

"All right," She replied, "Alistair and I will traipse through Dust Town and let you guys know if we find anything."

"So we are to go from seven down to-"

"You can't have it both ways, Morrigan," Ffion's voice was sharp as she interrupted the witch, "Besides this is a Warden agreement best fulfilled by Wardens. We'll meet you at Tapsters as soon as we find anything."

The Warden turned on her heel and left the Diamond Quarter; Tilly on her heels and Alistair falling loyally in beside her. Morrigan watched them go with a speculative gleam in her gold eyes.

"Folly," She said bitingly, "Ridiculous-"

"She had another very fair point, lovely," Zevran's voice was cold in spite of the endearment, "We cannot expect to have everything go our way."

Leliana and Wynne were agreeing, but Sten's violet eyes were just as hard as Morrigan's.

"I agree with the witch," He said, resolute as ever, "It is utter folly."

"Of course you agree," Leliana was having none of it and her blue eyes were snapping to Zevran's amber, "I do not like this. She is too innocent for this kind of work and I'm worried."

As usual, there was a gleam in the Orlesian's gaze that said she did more than just _worry_ about Ffion. This little snippet of their group relationships fascinated Zevran since he knew that Ffion would never respond to it, but now was not the time or place.

"I do not like it either," He admitted and his eyes were uncharacteristically serious.

"'Tis not as if she is alone," Morrigan's tone was still cool and there was no chance she'd ever confess to worrying herself over Ffion's fate.

"Indeed, she will be more protected than even she knows."

With those parting words, Zevran melted away.


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N:** Merry Christmas to all my readers and I wish you all the very best New Year. Take care!

* * *

"Well, now what?" Alistair questioned as they stood uncertainly under the gates leading to Dust Town.

Ffion lifted her shoulders a little, her brows drawing together in a frown. Her grey eyes were studying their surroundings and clearly showing the pity she felt for these Dwarves that had fallen so far, or not been able to get up in the first place. She had just parted her lips to answer when loud voices interrupted her.

Off to their right, partially hidden in the shadows of an alley, were 5 Dwarves arguing fiercely. It was 4 against one and the group had bullied the lone Dwarf into a corner. They were oblivious to the Wardens and not worried about any sort of ramifications to their actions.

"No more excuses, Figor," The leader was snapping, "It's been two weeks and though she's understanding, she's starting to get impatient. Where's the money?"

Figor was cowering back against the rough stone and he had put his hands up, not in defeat; it was more like he was warding off whatever blow that might be dealt. His terrified eyes never left his tormentors and it took him a moment to swallow some of his fear and answer.

"I – I have most of it at – at the shop," He stammered and then pressed on quickly when the lead Dwarf's hand clenched visibly, "I'll get the last five sovereigns today. At – at the end of business, please? Just give me the afternoon to get those l-last five. It'll happen, one of my customers owes me. Please?"

The other Dwarf glared for just a heartbeat longer and then waved his men back.

"All right, Figor," He said and his voice took on a dangerous edge, "This afternoon, then. And if you don't have it, you know where we'll pull it from."

The four turned and headed further into Dust Town while Figor slumped against the wall. One shaking hand went up to rub at his face and it cost him dear to stand upright and trudge to his shop.

Ffion's eyes had lighted with both surprise and excitement and she was almost smiling up at Alistair, who liked what the slightly upturned lips did to the rest of her small face.

"I think they just answered your question," She observed, nodding to where the group of thugs was just visible, threatening another poor sod, "Come on, let's go see what Figor has to say about the Carta."

She started forward and was checked by Alistair's hand in the crook of her elbow. Her eyes went up to his again and he was looking at the group of Dwarves down the way.

"Let's hold up a minute longer, huh?" He said and it was more a command than request, "If we cause that poor fellow anymore trouble, he won't talk to us at all."

Ffion let out a quick sigh, seeing his point, but not bothering to hide her impatience. She wasn't used to bending her will to others' needs and it was just as difficult a lesson as trying to hold her tongue.

"Okay," She said grudgingly and then motioned with her free hand to the wall beside them, "We'll still be able to see from there."

Alistair removed his hand and followed her to the wall. They settled against it, Ffion taking a seat without a thought to the sandy stone beneath her and Tilly perched on her haunches beside her. The ex-Templar leaned against the stone next to the pair and watched the four Dwarves, hoping they would leave soon. Ffion was tipping her head back, close enough that he could touch her pretty hair without an effort, and her grey eyes were drifting shut. She just looked so tired lately and he wasn't sure how much of this was the normal strain of being a Warden and how much was what she had been taking on. Which only made him feel guilty. He knew that he was the one that should have stepped up and taken charge, but the fear that he would destroy everything more completely then it already was stopped him dead in his tracks. His guilt was stronger than ever at Ffion's deep sigh and he was fending it off in the only way he knew how: by talking.

"I wonder if Morrigan was right... again," He mused, not really sure where he was going with this.

It got Ffion's attention though and her eyes were open and locking on his. Her full lips parted and the little smile was back, making his face feel kind of hot and his heart thump rather loudly. This wasn't the first time that he wondered how soft those lips were... and then her voice was interrupting the alarming thoughts.

"Twice in one day?" She was saying, her smile growing and making her eyes dance, "Which one of you is slipping?"

Alistair let out a chuckle and felt like his old self again, which was both relieving and kind of disappointing.

"Me, I think," He answered, "And Morrigan would, well, agree... again. But I meant about how many of us should have come down here. It wouldn't have hurt to have one more person. Sten would have helped with that situation there."

Ffion felt a little twinge of frustration and anger and wasn't sure why. But, as usual, they gave her tongue free reign and her words were biting and sarcastic.

"And then we would have had half of Dust Town down on our heads," She replied sharply, "No, not Sten. Leliana and Wynne wouldn't have stood idly by during that and so-"

"And so Zevran," Alistair sneered, his good mood gone and jealousy fueling his anger, "Just because-"

"Quit being ridiculous," Ffion interrupted and was leaning forward to get to her feet, "He's proven his loyalty and you'll just have to get over the fact that I'm not throwing him out of our party."

The ex-Templar snorted and found that Ffion was rubbing off on him. He was more honest than usual and as he looked down into her face, noting that the anger was giving her pleasantly flushed cheeks and making her eyes brighter, he couldn't stop himself from adding,

"He looks at you like you're something to eat and I don't like it; it makes my skin crawl. You deserve something better than that, Ffion, and I'm the one to..."

He trailed off, suddenly realizing what he was saying and felt his face flame hotly. Ffion had frozen in the process of standing and her grey eyes were wide. Over the past few weeks, she had lost some of the almond shape in them and they were round in her small face and brighter than ever now. Her lips parted slowly and she looked even more tired.

"Alistair," She began.

He was faster, not to mention more determined.

"I'm sorry, Ffion," He said abruptly, "Ignore me. I know you like Zevran and though I won't pretend I understand why, I don't have any right going off on him like that."

She hesitated, her anger easing with his genuine apology and making her face soften as it dissipated. Getting fully to her feet, she stepped closer and placed one hand on his arm, smiling up at him.

"And you're concerned," She added softly, "It's fine, Alistair. You're worried about me and that's very sweet. It's been a long time since... It's just very sweet, thank you. And our thugs have gone, so let's go see if they silenced Figor for good."

Alistair felt that same odd combination of relief and disappointment as she moved away. It would have been so easy for him to stoop and kiss her cheek just then, but he hadn't been sure that he could have resisted the temptation of her full lips. And that thought was as alarming as the idea of facing the Archdemon... in a different light of course. He just wasn't supposed to see a sister Warden this way. Sure, the others had had trysts, but it was never anything serious. Everyone had known that none of it would last; _could _last. Not with their shortened lifespans and devoting these to protecting Ferelden and her people from the Darkspawn. So why had Ffion always felt... different? It was almost like they fit together in some sort of way, and he was becoming more and more certain that it wasn't just because they were the only two Wardens that they knew of. It seemed like they belonged together, that they were meant... But no, that was going _way_ too far. And nevermind how light that thought made him feel, or how much he liked it.

And now, the object of his thoughts was escaping and so he gave himself a shake and hurried after her. Ffion was pulling open the shop door when he caught up and he held it while she and Tilly entered ahead of him. Figor was behind a broad, short counter that was crowded with everyday goods. Scattered amongst these were finely crafted knives and hand axes that proved Figor's skill was wasted on those bullies and this rotten living. He was giving them a friendly smile that didn't for a moment reveal his previous terror. The room was empty of fellow customers and Ffion boldly walked to the counter and spoke before anyone else could.

"Atrast vala," She greeted and was pulling sovereigns out as she talked, "I have a favor to ask. The Carta was not discreet in their... thuggery and you need five sovereigns, right? I'll pay ten if you can tell me all you know of Jarvia."

"Are you-"

"That means you'll get your five from your late customer and have the ten to use however you want," She went on as though the Dwarf hadn't spoken, "And trust the word of a Warden. We'll use whatever information you give us to destroy the Carta once and for all. I need to know everything you might know."

Figor was speechless and his blue eyes kept flickering between Alistair and Ffion, waiting for someone to admit the joke.

"You're crazy," He finally managed, "And I want you out of this shop. The Carta is a disease and it'll take more authority than a Warden has to end it."

"Someone like a Dwarf lord with Orzammar behind him?" Ffion's voice was all cool superiority, mirroring Morrigan's perfectly.

Figor snorted, starting to relax. He was almost smiling as he glanced between them again.

"Bhelen's a bastard and Harrowmont needs a hell of a lot of help before he can knock the prince from his pedestal."

Alistair could see the thoughts whirring through Ffion's mind and he stepped forward, not sure how he felt about the direction these were taking.

"Ffion-"

"Help only a Warden could give?" She interrupted, ignoring the ex-Templar's warning.

It brought Figor up short and his blue eyes were serious once more. He was studying Ffion intently with more than a little disbelief. But he wasn't looking away from her, which was somehow encouraging.

"You mean you – you're here for Harrowmont?" He asked.

Ffion stepped to the counter fully and placed her money on its cluttered top.

"Ten sovereigns and all you have on Jarvia," She replied and wasn't for a moment letting him think that she could be easily put off.

Figor stared for a split second longer.

"If they-"

"Give us some credit," Alistair interrupted, taking his place next to Ffion, "You didn't really think we would follow you directly here? Those idiots were long gone before we even came close to this door."

"And like I said, Jarvia will be taken down by whatever information you can give," Ffion added, jingling the coins against the counter to emphasis her point.

Figor's resistance disappeared and the coins followed a moment later.

"Unfortunately there's not much to give," He said and his voice lowered like he was afraid the Carta could hear him in the shop, "I've never met Jarvia herself. I owe money through one of her low-level thugs. The one thing I can tell you is that they have a sort of meeting house at the end of this street. If you're really _that_ desperate for trouble, go check that place out. And if there's even a hint of-"

"There won't be," Ffion interrupted with such confidence even Alistair was blinking at her, "Thanks for the help."

She turned about and was leaving the shop without another word, Tilly and Alistair following in her wake. The Warden took a moment to get her bearings and then headed down the street. All of the houses down that way were dilapidated and leaning into one another, but the one on the end looked promising... In a dark, foreboding sort of way.

Alistair glanced sidelong at Ffion who was eyeing the place nervously, nevermind her previous determination. Her grey eyes met his as she felt his gaze.

"Ready?" He asked.

"Not really," She answered frankly and her jaw set, morphing her face into rather hard, stubborn lines that made her look younger, "But we don't have a choice."


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N:** Happy New Year and best wishes to you. Enjoy!

* * *

She stepped forward, putting one hand to the door and giving it a shove. It opened reluctantly and none of the Dwarves lounging nearby gave this a second thought. They were all too used to seeing strangers move in and out of the place, and they didn't trouble the Wardens at all.

The entry way that Ffion and Alistair found themselves in was dingy and poorly lit. The house was narrow, running straight back from the street and the little entry was cramped. There wasn't a stick of furniture other than a bookshelf that was missing most of the shelves and a trunk that once would have held boots, and probably weapons. There were a few piles of parchment on the few remaining bookshelves and Ffion went to examine these while Alistair struggled to open the trunk and Tilly prowled the room.

It was the hound that sounded the warning, but it came too late for her lady and the ex-Templar to steel themselves.

"Well, well, well," A voice was saying, "Lookee' 'ere, boys, fresh meat. An' the Wardens t'boot."

Tilly was in front of her lady who whirled to face the 6 Dwarves that had materialized from the deeply shadowed end of the house. The Mabari was growling at the leader who was eyeing Ffion lecherously. The young Warden's hands were on her knife hilts and her grey eyes glittered dangerously.

"Try it," She challenged, her old recklessness taking hold of her as Tilly's ears went back and Alistair sidled closer, "I dare you."

The Dwarf chuckled and motioned to the others.

"This'll b'fun. Think their women 're be'er than our whores?"

Another thug let out a sick little chuckle.

"On'y one way t'find out," He said and his near toothless grin was horrible.

Ffion's hand hardly moved, but the Dwarf was suddenly collapsing with her knife stuck in his eye. He hadn't had time to even reach for his shortbow and the Warden noted with satisfaction the Dwarf next to him was not nearly so eager for a fight anymore. But this didn't stop the others.

The leader was diving at Alistair with his right-hand man in tow while Tilly took on another and the remaining two advanced on Ffion. Her shortswords were in her palms and she did her best to push the sudden rush of fear aside. She met one with a fierce upward swing of one blade, knocking him into Tilly and then rounding on the other. The Dwarves were much shorter than she was, but they had all the girth she lacked and this was not an easy fight. She fought fiercely, parrying every blow, cursing when the Dwarf got too close and waiting for her opening. Which came as soon as the second Dwarf was gaining a second wind.

Tilly finally finished of her foe and Alistair was making headway with his by the time Ffion's swordhilt smashed into the Dwarf's head. He staggered back against one of the dingy walls and Ffion spun, looking for her other Dwarf. This one was ready for her and his own sword went crashing against her temple and she fell back. Stars exploded behind her eyelids and she was almost on her knees as a wicked-looking shortsword parried the killing blow and a familiar, honey-like voice was saying,

"Easy, ser, can you not see she's had enough?" Zevran had never been more welcome. His teeth gleamed as he pushed the Dwarf aside,"Give our dove a chance, yes?"

It was hardly a question and the Elf's added presence brought an abrupt end to the fight. Alistair had backed two of the Dwarves against the wall, Zevran took out the leader with a single swipe of the wicked blade, and Tilly and Ffion advanced the remaining two. The righthand man was quick to see there was no other alternative to surrender and he threw his blades down. The others followed suit, but the righthand's green eyes didn't leave Ffion.

"Please," He gasped, "Enough, we're done. Bloody ancestors, what're ya' Wardens made of?"

Ffion didn't ease on her swords and Zevran's presence at her elbow was very reassuring. Her grey eyes were hard and when she snorted in disbelief, Tilly began growling again.

"Stronger stuff than you, obviously," She answered bitingly.

"Was there ever any doubt?" Zevran added and started forward, his blades gleaming much like his eyes.

Ffion held out her hand as the Dwarves cowered back. The small move brought the Elf up short but Ffion wasn't looking away from the thugs.

"They've surrendered," She said sharply.

"Pet, you-"

"They've surrendered and I need them," Ffion still didn't look away and the hope she saw in the righthand's green eyes drew her, "Start talking. The more you can tell us, the better off you'll be."

"I'll tell ya' everythin', no worries, Warden, trus' me on that," The thug was terrified, which was good for Ffion, "Jarvia 'as a hideout, un'er the city. The catch is, ya' need one o' these t'get in."

Ffion had to hold Zevran again as the Dwarf reached into his armor and pulled out what looked like...

"Is that a-,"

"A finger bone," The thug interrupted Alistair, but it was statement; not an answer to a question, "There's a door hi'en in an alley jus' down the way 'ere. The on'y way in is w'that bone. Tha's all there is, Warden. Please-,"

"Get out of here," Ffion cut in, taking the bone from him, "And steer clear of Jarvia tonight. Unless, of course, you change your mind about dying."

"Ffion?" Zevran and Alistair's voices held the exact same note of disbelief and both were ignored.

"Y – ya're serious?" The thug stuttered, "You-,"

"I'm serious," She sounded exhausted and her grey eyes leveled on him, "Get the hell out of here."

Zevran was annoyed, but he didn't argue, not with the Dwarves present. Instead he stepped back to let them by, saying sharply,

"Leave the weapons."

They didn't need to be told twice. The righthand man paused long enough to nod at Ffion.

"Stone guide ya', Warden."

Alistair and Zevran both turned to Ffion as the door closed. Her jaw was set stubbornly and the men's momentary alliance would have been amusing if their stern expressions hadn't killed that feeling.

"You know they'll go running back to Jarvia," Alistair said.

Zevran's blonde head inclined and his amber eyes were as level as Ffion's.

"Chirpy is right, pet," He agreed, "Leaving loose threads is never wise."

"We won't give them a chance to reach her. We're going to get there first," Ffion was matter of fact, examining her blades before sliding them away, "Besides, they had surrendered and I'm not going to cut down anyone who gives up so completely. I don't believe in killing solely for the act of killing."

Zevran could feel that barb even if she hadn't intended it, and his smile was cool as his gaze turned speculative.

"But the others-" Alistair tried again.

"We don't have time," She cut through his arguments without thought and continued, "We'll head there now."

She turned and went for the door. Zevran and Alistair fell in behind her and Tilly; neither one convinced... or happy.

"With just us?" The ex-Templar questioned, his tone still incredulous, "Harrowmont said-,"

"And you really want to trust his ability to pull enough men together to help here?" She wasn't about to let anyone talk her out of this and she ignored the way Alistair's face was growing red at her repeated interruptions, "No, it's better this way."

Zevran had better luck than Alistair. He stopped Ffion's march down the street with a mere brush of his fingers and offered when she glanced at him,

"Let us at least pay one of these Dwarves to take a message to the others, my dove. It is better to have late help than no help at all, yes?"

She let out a snort of disbelief as she met his gaze.

"Pay?" She repeated, clearly unconvinced, "What makes you think that any of these people can be trusted with something like that?"

The Elf was smiling his feral smile and almost patting her head in that condescending, don't-trouble-yourself-any way that his eyes suggested he felt.

"Zevran has his ways," He answered and was all confident assurance.

He slipped away and seemed to materialize amongst a group of Dwarves that were further down the road. Ffion watched him go with a bemused, irritated sort of expression, and then headed down the road without him. With Alistair beside her and Tilly on the other side, she approached a door that was centered between two broken down homes. She studied the wood for a moment and then pulled the finger bone out of her pocket. There was an odd little hole that was exactly level with Tilly's nose and Ffion slid the bone into this as Zevran was beside her and the door gave a little click.

"Success, my dear," The Elf commented.

Ffion barely nodded at him before Alistair was taking the chance to be heard again.

"Are you sure about this, Ffion?" He asked quietly, "I mean, it wouldn't be too much to just run back to Tapsters and gather the others."

She hesitated for the briefest moment, making the ex-Templar think that he might have won this one. But then she clenched her jaw and gave the door a hard shove like she was taking out her frustration on it instead of the men with her. This door was well-oiled; not like the other one at all, and they were standing in a long corridor that was lighted every 10 yards or so with a flickering torch. The floor was carved stone, along with the walls that went up to a ceiling that even Sten could walk comfortably underneath. Alistair was taking this in and his honey colored eyes were lighting a little with their usual happy-go-lucky air.

"Why do such short people need such high ceilings?" He questioned as they started down the corridor, "Do you think they're compensating for something?"

"Well, you would-"

"Shh!" Ffion hissed, stopping Zevran before he could start an argument that would blow their cover completely. Tilly was standing at attention, her ears perked, and her head cocked to one side. Her lady recognized this for what it was and she tilted her head as well, listening hard, "Do you hear voices?"

The other two fell silent as they focused on any noises from the end of the corridor. Faintly, they were able to pick up what Tilly was hearing and they went on slowly, trying to avoid making too much noise. They reached the end much sooner than they thought and Zevran waved for the others to stop. He stepped forward a little more, reaching into one of the pouches on his belt. Pulling out what looked like a wrapped truffle, the Elf eased to a corner before tossing it into the next room. There was a _pop-_ing sound that had some depth to it and a sharp acrid smoke smell stung their noses. Whoever was in the next room let out curses as the Elf slipped in and began taking care of them under cover of the smoke.

Ffion was quick to step in as well, with Tilly and Alistair on her heels. There were only three Dwarves left by the time they caught up with the Elf, and these were still very disoriented by the smoke. When the room was cleared, they were able to see that they had stumbled into a storeroom of sorts. There was a partition down the middle of the room and barrels, crates, and boxes were stacked in the corners. The Dwarves they had taken down were obviously the gatekeepers, and Zevran was quick to riffle through the pockets and came up with a large key ring.

The door that was to the right looked disused; covered in cobwebs, and so they went around the partition and through the next doorway. Another corridor stretched out in front of them and they eased down this one carefully, Alistair in the lead. It was Zevran who noticed the trap.


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N:** Longer this time and fairly prompt!

* * *

"Hold," He whispered, reaching out to catch the ex-Templar's arm, "Do not step down there."

Alistair was poised precariously on one foot and Ffion moved to his other side to take his arm so he wouldn't fall over. Instead he stepped backward and Zevran crouched, examining the booby-trapped stone. The only indication that there was something wrong was the slightly raised edge that had to be looked for. The Elf didn't attempt to disarm it and straightened in one fluid move. His amber eyes were skipping along the floor and picking out the safest route for them. He waved the others back a little more and stepped over the trapped stone.

"Step only where I do," He instructed in a voice below a whisper, "None of us desire a violent end, yes? And disarming these traps is quite a frustrating business."

Alistair waved Ffion ahead of him while the young Warden was instructing Tilly to walk directly behind her.

"I'll watch her," The ex-Templar offered in a whisper.

Together, placing each foot as if it would indeed be their last, they picked their way along the corridor and found themselves at another doorway. Again, there was the soft murmur of voices and Zevran sacrificed another one of his handy little distractions. There were only four Dwarves here but this fight was more fierce. One of them looked to be half human or Qunari as he was a good head and shoulders taller than the rest and had double the girth. But Alistair and Zevran, for all their differences, made a good team. And neither one was about to let Ffion get harmed.

The room was a jail, or holding place of some kind and they took their time looking around once the Dwarves were taken care of. To their left were a couple of steps that led to a raised section where three cells were located. One held a Dwarf that was far beyond their help, but in the one next to him was another young Dwarf leaning on the cell bars. His black hair was lank against a face that was very gaunt and his hands were gripping the heavy metal bars so tightly it looked like he might fall over if he let go. The deeply shadowed eyes were sunken with hunger and his very cracked lips parted slowly.

"Please..." He whispered in a broken voice, "Help..."

Ffion was already rooting through the pockets of the dead Dwarves and she finally came up with a ring of heavy keys. She smiled a little at the Dwarf as she approached his door.

"You'll be okay," She said quietly, "I'll get you out."

He didn't seem to be paying attention. He was looking at the neighboring cell and his face became longer.

"Too late..." He muttered, "Why, Faren? He jus'... gave up... Stopped eatin' an'... I can't leave him here."

Ffion had successfully managed to open his cell door and instantly put out her arms as the Dwarf stumbled into her. She staggered under his weight and Alistair was stepping forward to help. They steadied the Dwarf and Ffion winced as he squeezed her hand so hard it felt like he was trying to snap her fingers. She opened her mouth to answer him but Zevran was faster. He had deftly picked the lock of the next cell and was bending over the dead Dwarf. Reaching with one hand to close the staring eyes, he said,

"Your friend is beyond help and he would be too much for you to handle alone."

"I ain't leavin' him," The Dwarf replied stubbornly, his voice strengthening even as he clutched Ffion more tightly.

Zevran was standing, his eyes a little annoyed as he looked back at them. Ffion was the one that spoke next, feeling her heart soften.

"The way back is clear," She said, her grey eyes on the Dwarf's black, "You would be able to go and get some help and come back safely."

He snorted, pulling away to attempt standing on his own. It worked this time and his gaze was contemptuous as he looked at her.

"You have my thanks, cloudhead... but you're damn thick if ya' think a... casteless will ge' help from those soddin'..."

His strength seemed to go out and he deflated. Alistair put one steadying hand under his elbow and the pity in his eyes was palpable.

"Things can't be that bad?" He asked quietly and Zevran's impatient shifting was going ignored.

The Dwarf had turned his contempt to the ex-Templar but before he could light into him, Ffion interrupted.

"Then we'll come back for him," She said firmly. One of her hands was digging through the small bag strung to her belt and she pulled up a thick slice of ham that she had snagged from Tapsters earlier, "Here, take this, and go find something to drink. We'll take care of things down here and I promise you, we will come back for your friend."

The Dwarf accepted the ham greedily and was in the middle of a huge bite when the Warden's words froze him in place. His black eyes grew even wider and he forced the swallow, blinking at her.

"Are you... You ain't teasin', are you?" He managed, "Why would you... a cloudhead, trouble yourself wi'... one of us casteless?... It don't make sense."

"It's the right thing to do," Ffion answered briskly and glanced around them at the room, "We have to get moving, but like I said, we'll come back for him. He deserves a proper burial no matter what his circumstances were."

The Dwarf had time to stammer his thanks as she dropped a few silvers into his free palm and gave him the formal farewell. Zevran and Alistair followed after the Warden and her hound, too surprised by this sudden turnaround to pose any arguments.

"Ffion..." It was Alistair that was finally broaching the subject as their surroundings went from stone corridors to packed earth. Hopefully this meant they were getting closer to Jarvia.

"What in the Maker's name is a cloudhead?" She cut in with a frown, "I think he meant it as an insult, but it doesn't work too well when your target doesn't get it."

Zevran was laughing in delight before he remembered they were trying to be cautious. Alistair blinked down at his fellow Warden with a smile curving his lips. She looked so sweet and innocent, and it was amazing how quickly she morphed from their 'rough-and-ready' leader to a very young girl. And all in the blink of an eye it seemed.

"It means you come from the great wide world, my pet," Zevran purred, "He just does not know as we do, yes?"

Alistair was still smiling at her in that almost tender way and it was the ex-Templar that got them back on track.

"And that's one of the nicer insults, believe it or not," He pressed on with his original question, "Anyway, do you really think that we'll have time to come back and get that Dwarf?"

The Warden had let Zevran move in front of her as he was much more accustomed to spotting traps than she was, and she herself focused her gaze on Tilly since the hound would be the first to hear any adversaries. She gave a little shrug of her shoulders as Zevran tilted his head to listen.

"Well, it was better than letting him attempt to haul his friend back to Dust Town and killing himself in the process."

Alistair's sigh was relieved and he smiled at her again, silently commending her for some very quick thinking.

"So you were just trying to placate him?" He replied, "Good move."

"Yes and no," She frowned as Tilly perked up, cocking her head, and then settling once more. Zevran had also paused, but with both of them pressing on, Ffion didn't think anything of it, "He wasn't strong enough to do it on his own, which was very obvious. But I have no intention of going back on my word. He's not the one to take something like that lightly and I'm not the type to promise something and not deliver. Once we take care of the thugs here, there's no reason why we can't come back and carry that body for his friend. Yes, Zev, I mean it."

This last was directed at the Elf when he started to turn, his full lips parting in what she could only assume would have been an argument. They weren't given the chance to go into detail. The path ahead of them continued straight, but they had reached a section where two short jaunts ran perpendicular to theirs, and they were as surprised to see the group of Dwarves as the Dwarves were to see them.

The fight that followed was quick and very tense. It was four of them against eight Dwarves and they very nearly didn't come out ahead. Tilly took a glancing blow from an axe to her shoulder, Alistair was shot twice by the scout's bow before Ffion's knife finished the Dwarf off; Zevran's green tattoo had a deep slash cutting diagonally across it, and Ffion was slammed into the wall of the tunnel so harshly they worried she had dislocated a shoulder. It felt like a battering ram had used her upper shoulder and collar bone for practice, and if it hadn't been for Alistair's quick thinking and even quicker shield bash, she wouldn't be standing among them. In fact, her companions would have returned for two bodies instead of just Faren's.

"Now, if we had the wonderful Wynne-"

"Don't," Ffion interrupted Zevran without looking at him as she paid attention to her dog. Her words were clipped and short, her breath slowly returning to normal. She was pulling out a little kit that held heavy thread and several needles, each one a varying size, "I'm standing beside my decision and the only thing that would change my mind is if all of us were to die."

She was well aware of how silly that sounded, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Besides, she had kind of done it on purpose, succeeding in making Alistair chuckle and Zevran cast her a wicked smile as they knelt beside her and helped to stitch Tilly's wounds. The little kit was a remnant of Ostagar and one of Duncan's abundant practical ideas. It had been a gift from the senior Warden and Ffion sent him a quiet thanks as Tilly remained still. The hound's hide twitched with each stab of the needle, but she knew her lady was helping and so didn't shy away. Alistair received attention next but the arrows hadn't done too much damage and he was content with a few tight bandages until Wynne showed up.

The dirt track did end up being a sign that they were coming closer to Jarvia and, after another mile or so of the twisting tunnel, they came up on a heavy metal door; fortified against any attack, of course. But none of the thugs seemed to take into account what would happen if someone managed to snag the keys Zevran was rattling a little too eagerly, hunting for the right one.

"Is this really a good idea?" Alistair muttered in Ffion's ear as the Elf tried another key and the tumblers in the lock gave way.

"They'll assume we're one of the scouts," She answered, but was running her fingers over one knife hilt rather nervously.

"Until they see us," The ex-Templar's tone was dark and his honey colored eyes were on Zevran's, "Do you have any of those little explosions handy?"

"Of course," The Elf said smoothly, "But I agree with our dove. Jarvia is a most curious woman, and she will desire to learn how we bested her men. We will have an excellent opportunity to stall the fighting until our little party arrives. Now let us enter before they get even more nervous, yes?"

And without waiting for an answer, the Elf shoved the door open. They were back on a regular stone floor with carvings that led the eye up to the ceiling and the huge stone beams that ran the width of it. These were connected to four wide supports that Sten could have easily hidden behind. There was a raised dais at the back of the room and the torches were flickering off of the stone in a way that was almost disorienting.

"What the hell's this?" The growled voice came from the shadows to their right and there was a burly little Dwarf with pale brown eyes that were narrowed to slits, "Who're you?"

"We came here for an audience with Jarvia," Ffion's voice was quiet, but firm. She was afraid that her words would tremble if she spoke too loudly.

"Well, isn't that too damn bad," The Dwarf replied and advanced a little, "You can either tuck tail an'-"

"Caro! Since when do you have the authority to turn away guests?" The new voice was anything but welcoming and by her tone, she would've been better off saying 'bastards' instead of 'guests.'

But Caro was cowed and he sent a quick glance over his shoulder before grunting and motioning them to enter. Zevran didn't like that the Dwarf moved behind them and he felt rather than saw the other slip into place there as well. Ahead of them, a female Dwarf was coming down the steps and behind her were two more scouts with bows. The Dwarf woman was middle aged and would have been quite attractive if life hadn't been so hard on her. Her dark brown eyes were hard and cold as they surveyed Ffion's party. She was wearing leather armor that was well taken care of and had been around for some time. Her straight, near black hair skimmed her jaw and the rune-like tattoo that decorated her right cheekbone somehow worked for her.

"I trust you have a good reason for barging in on us?" Her voice was cool and superior.

Ffion's hackles were up and her fear was replaced with a sudden rush of anger. She squared her shoulders and stepped forward, all at once becoming the Teyrn's daughter. The sight of the scouts tightening their hold on the bows and the sound of the guards loosing their axes went ignored.

"You have a traitor in your midst," She answered, pulling the finger bone out of her pocket and flicking it at the Dwarf's feet, "You might want to check on that."

Other than a brief clench of her jaw, Jarvia seemed unmoved. She had come to a stop a few yards from them almost, but not quite, putting her hands on her hips.

"So you're the ones," She said, "We had heard Harrowmont finally took action against the Carta but he still doesn't bother to send his own to defend _his _city," She snorted in contempt and her eyes were locked on Ffion, "Tell me, Warden: that has to sting, even if it's just a little."

"If it takes down your thugs and strips you of whatever power you think you have, it'll be worth it," Ffion was standing forward, ready to go toe-to-toe with this arrogant, would-be mobster, and a quick gleam of torchlight caught the tripline of the trap at the bottom of the steps. Her brain was already forming a plan when Jarvia started bragging.

"You are aware, cloudhead, that it's not a fight you'll win? Three and a quarter against _my_ Carta? You must be thick."

Tilly started growling, recognizing the insult, and Ffion did some bragging of her own as Alistair and Zevran closed ranks with her.

"And you're aware, Dwarf, that _your_ Carta is nothing but a field of bodies? I think the odds just tipped back in our favor."

Jarvia's face twisted as her hands clenched and the Dwarves behind the party started forward.

"If that's so, you'll pay for it, you little bitch," She snarled, "Leave the pretty one alive, boys, I have a special treatment for her."

Ffion moved faster than the scouts could. Her knife left her fingers and snapped the tripline that she had spotted earlier. Like she hoped, the trap sprung and the explosion blew the archers into the far wall. They slammed against it and slid to the floor, remaining motionless. Jarvia dove at the Warden as Alistair took on the guards with Tilly, and Zevran was busy with a sixth Dwarf that seemed to spring from the shadows.

Jarvia very quickly gained the upper hand and she fought dirty. Ffion was scrambling back, on the defensive. Jarvia's dual blades were blurs and it was all the Warden could do to keep them from her flesh. She got a reprieve thanks to Tilly. The Mabari had taken out her Dwarf and sprang clear when Alistair's was knocked into her path. The hound collided with Jarvia's legs and made her stagger. Ffion took her chance and ducked away as well, slashing one blade across the Dwarf's exposed back. Jarvia spat out a curse and was whirling to face the Warden in a blur of blades and dark hair. Ffion was a little more prepared this time and with Tilly beside her, things didn't seem so hopeless. She met the Dwarf's swings with her own and didn't think twice about fighting dirty herself. She lashed out with a swift kick every now and then and tried to remember all the tips and tricks she had picked up from the duals and fights with Gilmore. Although there could hardly be a true comparison. Rick had never been trying to _kill_ her... that she knew of anyway.

Jarvia was quick to drive those thoughts from her head. She kicked back, forcing Ffion to jump to the side. Her feet tangled in the legs of that first guard and she stumbled, watching in dismay as Tilly was knocked aside with a sharp yelp. Under the right circumstances, the scene probably would have been rather comical. That which can go wrong will go wrong. And then Jarvia was taking the chance to hurl herself at the Warden while she was still off balance.

Time seemed to slow. Zevran finished off his Dwarf and was turning to face the room, but there was no way he'd reach Ffion in time. Alistair was still tangled with the guard and Tilly was slowly getting to her feet, shaking her broad head and whining softly. Ffion realized she was on her own and she braced herself, waiting for the blow. Which never came.

Jarvia was knocked clean out of the air by some unseen force, and Sten was hollering his Qunari battle cries as he dodged Morrigan's continued spells and took out the Dwarf with one sweep of that huge broadsword. The familiar twang of Leliana's bow preceded Alistair's guard being cut down, and Wynne immediately cast her healing magic over all of them. Ffion let out a sigh that was relief itself as the pain in her shoulder disappeared and Tilly trotted over to her, happy and content.

"Just in time," She commented, dropping her swords to her sides, "Any trouble along the way?"

"None," Leliana answered, her cheeks dimpling as she tucked her bow away, "You all are very thorough, no?"

"Try to be," Alistair cut in and started towards his fellow Warden, "Are you okay? She didn't-"

There was a flicker of movement behind Ffion and she let out a surprised gasp, stumbling forward. Leliana was the first to react.

"Back!" She ordered sharply, bringing her arm up in the same breath.

There was a little click of a catch releasing and the Dwarf assassin that had materialized behind Ffion was dropping with a long silver dart lodged in his throat. Alistair had caught Ffion's arm to steady her and the young Warden was blinking at Leliana as she rearranged the gauntlet on her left arm, tucking the little firing mechanism away.

"I need to find one of those," She said, her voice oddly breathless. Alistair was frowning at her, his lips parting, as she rolled her shoulders and wondered at the hot pinpricks running across her lower back, "But I think… I think he got lucky."

Zevran was instantly moving forward as Ffion's knees buckled and Alistair caught her more firmly. The assassin's blade had torn through both leather armor and soft flesh and blood was dripping steadily onto the stone floor. The others gathered around as the ex-Templar scooped her into his arms. Leliana was snatching up her discarded blades, Zevran hovered helplessly close by, and Wynne cast more of her magic. The frown that creased the Enchanter's forehead was not encouraging.

"I'm afraid that blade was poisoned," She said quietly while Morrigan motioned to the dais and the two doors there.

"'Tis possible one of these is a shortcut," The witch offered, "The sooner we get back, the better, yes?"

Sten was tossing her the set of keys he lifted from Jarvia's body as Ffion struggled in Alistair's arms.

"No," She protested weakly, trying to free herself, "I… I made a… promise. We can't… we - ah!"

Morrigan had flung open one of the doors to reveal a short flight of steps that led up. Tilly whined at the sound of her lady's pain and the concern in the witch's gold eyes was evident even if her voice didn't betray it.

"Promise?" She repeated, "What on earth was it this time?"

"Sten and I will go," Zevran interrupted, giving Alistair's shoulder a push, "Take care of her."

"Like I won't," The ex-Templar muttered quietly and disappeared up the steps.

Wynne, Tilly, and Leliana hurried after him while Morrigan paused, arching her brows at the Elf.

"Do I really want to know?" She said coldly.

"A question only you can answer," Zevran's amber eyes began dancing, "You need to pick which is greater, my lovely: your curiousity or your concern about our dove."

The witch scoffed and turned about with a snap, gliding up the steps and out of sight. Zevran's feral smile softened some as he clapped Sten on the shoulder and turned to head back they way they had come.

"Come, my friend, let us set little Ffion's heart at rest, yes?"


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: **Here's the next one as I watch snow fly outside... FINALLY! Enjoy and all the best.

* * *

"Ffion, please, don't try to get up just yet. You'll only make things worse," Wynne's tone was exasperated as she pushed gently on the Warden's shoulder, "Honestly you could be a close second to my worst patient."

Ffion couldn't help but smile, placating the Enchanter by leaning docilely against her pillows with a wince.

"I hate… being second best," She replied, hating the catch in her voice even more. The last thing she wanted was to prove Wynne's point, "Besides Harrowmont is… waiting for me."

"And he can wait a bit longer," The Enchanter said calmly, recognizing the defeat when she heard it. She was pouring another potion into a heavy pottery mug and handing it to Ffion, "He's been waiting all these weeks. What is an hour or two more?"

Ffion cradled the mug between her palms, mulling over those words. The more she spoke and interacted with Wynne, the more the Enchanter reminded her of her mother and she knew that that was why she felt an instinctive desire to tease and needle her. Wynne would never take Eleanor's place, no one could, but that feeling of being a beloved, spoiled daughter, of being taken care of, was intoxicating and she was going to chase it while she could. Even if it included getting scolded. Her grey eyes met Wynne's bright blue and she smiled rather cheekily.

"An hour or two, huh?" She repeated, "A lot can happen in an hour. Hell, Zevran could probably off two or three troops in an hour."

Wynne seemed to realize that she was being baited and so she didn't encourage Ffion by responding. She merely cast her own indulgent smile and sat primly on the chair beside the bed. She smoothed the skirt of the robe that she wore whenever they weren't traveling, and tucked a short strand of her white hair back behind her ear where it belonged. Her face was still a little drawn from the effort it took to purge the poison from Ffion's wound, but her blue eyes were as sharp as always.

"Drink that, Ffion, and get some rest," She ordered firmly.

That set the Warden's mind. She eyed the mug and then shook her head, setting it on the table beside her with a decided _thud_. Sitting up straight, she shifted on the small bed and swung her legs over the side. Wynne was beside her in an instant.

"Ffion-"

"No, Wynne, I know you mean… well. But I'm not going to… sleep the day away and destroy... everything we've set up with Harrowmont," Ffion was just as stubborn as the Enchanter and she spoke with that same careful neutrality, but her voice was getting stronger. If Wynne wanted to play this game, she'd go along with it. She couldn't help but wince, though, as she reached for the heavy shirt at the end of the bed, "I'm not going to fall for that trick."

Wynne heaved a long-suffering sigh and took up the shirt herself, handing to the stubborn Warden.

"It's not a trick, it's meant to keep you alive," She helped Ffion ease her arms into the sleeves and added, "And don't worry about being second best. You're well on your way to being the worst."

Ffion grinned and was carefully tugging her heavy ponytail free of the shirt. She could feel the tenderness of the gash along her back, but thankfully it was no longer that white-hot heat. Wynne's bet was that the assassin had used a stiletto and it was beyond any of their guesses as to why he had slashed instead of stabbed her. If it had been a stab and that quick moving poison had been released in Ffion's veins, she would have been long gone before they even reached the Commons. By all accounts and, in Leliana's opinion, by the mercy of the Maker, Ffion was just a damn lucky girl. The wound was bound with both magic and physical bandages and she felt up to the next meeting with Harrowmont in spite of Wynne's concerns. A knock on the door interrupted any further conversation and Ffion immediately dragged the blanket over her bare legs.

"Come in," She called, once she was sure she was covered.

Wynne was the only one that was going to see her in her smallclothes, if she could help it. And that was just because the Enchanter happened to be a healer. Alistair was opening the door, his smile broad and honey colored eyes thrilled.

"That is _much_ better," Leliana's lilting voice was saying as she bounded in with the ex-Templar, "You had us quite worried, dear."

"I'm fine," Ffion replied with a rather shy smile at Alistair. He had carried her all the way back to Tapsters and she couldn't help but recall the strength in his arms and the tender way he had held her… Her cheeks were growing hot and she added suddenly, "And we need to get back to Harrowmont."

"Now?" Alistair questioned, startled, "But-"

"It's no use," Wynne interrupted as she crossed the room and gathered up Ffion's extra clothing, "We've already had this argument."

"Shocking," Morrigan's voice held all its usual cool superiority and she leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed.

"Remember what I said about… predictability, Morrigan?" Ffion asked with a smile as Wynne shooed them from the room.

She tried to send Tilly out as well, afraid that the hound would knock her lady over and undo all her hard work, but the Mabari simply ducked around the opposite of the bed and refused to be moved. The Enchanter sighed again, turning to Ffion, and helping her finish dressing.

"That beast is as stubborn as you," She muttered under her breath.

The Warden was smiling, remembering her mother, and wishing that it didn't hurt so much. She pushed one hand down to Tilly's head to prevent the Mabari's jumping and to keep her balance. The wound stung, but it wasn't any worse than some of the bumps and bruises she had had in the past, and nothing at all like that first day she remembered after Ostagar.

"Wynne, you're one in a million," She replied, tying to disguise the note of heartache under one of playful teasing.

The Enchanter gave her a quick searching look that told Ffion she hadn't hidden the pain as well as she thought, but Wynne didn't push it. Instead she nodded and said briskly,

"Well, we'll both have to remember that next time when I have Sten or Alistair put you under completely so you won't have any choice but to sleep."

Ffion chuckled and by the time she had struggled into her boots and they went down the steps, Zevran and Sten had returned, with the dead Dwarf's friend in tow. He instantly gave Ffion a bow and then stepped forward to shake her hand. He looked a little better since they last saw him. At least he was standing under his own power now. His black eyes flicked around Tapsters' bar-room with a gleam of greed and something like nostalgia, and then he was meeting Ffion's gaze.

"I didn't think… I mean, no one's ever… Stone take it! I'm butcherin' this, ain't I?" That wasn't meant to be answered and he tried again, "What I'm tryin' to say, Warden, is thanks. Faren an' me… well, let's just say we never had no one really care what happened to us."

Ffion smiled gently, catching herself before she thanked Leliana as the Orlesian kept the others from interrupting. Morrigan's sigh was loud and very rude, Sten was shifting his weight impatiently, and Zevran's eyes were dancing rather wickedly. Leliana's quick wave prevented any of them of expounding.

"Not a very happy life, I take it?" Ffion replied in a soft tone, "And you're welcome. It wasn't right, leaving him like that. No one deserves that fate and it doesn't matter what choices he might have made."

"Yeah, well, that's what we're used to in Dust Town," The Dwarf answered matter-of-factly, "Anyway, Warden, you'll have friends in the casteless if I have any say in it. Name's Leske, by the way. An' if anything comes up and you need an extra set of hands, you let me know," Leske eyed her appreciatively and added, "You're not a bad sort, ya' know, Warden. For a cloudhead."

"And you're okay, too, for a casteless," Her grin was broad as Leske chuckled, and they shook hands again, "And I'll keep your promise in mind, Leske, thanks."

They left Tapsters and headed to the Diamond Quarter. Ffion's presence slowed them a little but with Alistair on one side, Tilly on the other, and Zevran following as close as a shadow, there was very little risk that she would have trouble.

"Is all of it really so hopeless?" She asked randomly and her voice was soft, like she was speaking to herself rather than them.

Alistair frowned down at her, not understanding.

"Hopeless?" He repeated, "You mean the Blight?"

She glanced at him, startled. She hadn't thought she spoke aloud. Her cheeks colored a little as she realized they were all staring at her and, what was worse, they had stopped walking. The color deepened and she shook her head, starting forward once more.

"Nevermind," She said, "I was thinking of... Nevermind, it doesn't matter."

She passed by Morrigan who had been leading the way and didn't see that speculative gleam in the witch's gold eyes. Not that that mattered either. Morrigan had guessed enough about Ffion's previous life that it would be pure redundancy to confirm it all. And besides, the Warden was now disappearing through the double doors leading to the Diamond Quarter.

When Forender met them in the foyer of the estate, he was shaking his head before he even spoke.

"I'm sorry, Warden," He said, his voice stuffy and not in the least bit apologetic, "Lord Harrowmont can't see all of you this time. He says just the Wardens today."

Ffion sighed, on the verge of putting her hands on her hips and demanding an answer. For once, though, Alistair was faster.

"We did what he wanted: Jarvia's dead and the Carta's scrambling," He replied coldly, "What's the new paranoia?"

Forender was making a visible attempt to keep him temper. It was clear he'd be _very_ happy to get the Wardens out of his hair when the time came.

"Poisoned letters," His answer was short, "Presumably from Bhelen's supporters. Two of our secretaries are dead."

Ffion's brows drew together in a frown and her irritation disappeared as the concern took over. She exchanged glances with Alistair before replying,

"Any leads?"

"None and dozens at the same time," Forender was _maybe_ a little softer this time, but it didn't last long, "So now you'll understand why we say just the Wardens today."

Ffion was nodding, knocking her hair from her eyes and wishing she had twisted it up completely.

"Alright, that's fair enough," She shot a glance at the others, "I guess just wait here. We shouldn't be too long."

"So you are given the opportunity to make another foolish promise?" As per usual, Morrigan wasn't going to go quietly.

"Morrigan, we're just going to get _his_ promise," Ffion answered, "All we need is his word that we'll have the Dwarves' aid. Have a little faith."

The witch eyed her a moment longer and then spread her hands in defeat, shaking her head.

"You are the worst kind of fool," She muttered and her poison wasn't nearly as thick as usual, "A trusting fool."

Ffion clapped her good-naturedly on the shoulder.

"One good thing about that, Morrigan," She replied, "You know I'd be the least likely to deceive you. We'll be back in a minute."

She and Alistair trailed after Forender with Tilly in tow. Which was allowed, the Dwarves being smart enough to realize that they would have missing limbs if they tried to keep the Mabari away.

Harrowmont was sitting at his desk when they were announced and he finished writing before getting to his feet and greeting them. This was done absentmindedly and, from the way he was standing, not looking them directly in the eyes, it was clear that not all had been said and done. Ffion's irritation spiked again just as sharply as it had with Forender and her grey eyes were fixed on the Dwarf. She folded her arms over her chest and wondered fleetingly how long she could keep her temper in check.

"My Lord Harrowmont, you have something else you needed?" She had to force the title out of pure politeness. It was too easy for her to slip to her inbred nobility and the arrogance that went hand-in-hand with it.

"It's hardly right," Harrowmont answered.

"But you'll do it anyway," Alistair _certainly_ wasn't asking and he forwent the niceties without a thought.

Harrowmont pulled rather self-consciously on his braided beard, his grey-blue eyes unhappy. It took a moment for him to look at them again and when he did, his spread his hands, palms up, in defeat.

"That doesn't make it any better," He directed that at Alistair and then was focused on Ffion again, "If you truly mean to see this through, Warden, there's another catch."

"There's always a catch," Ffion answered easily, shifting her weight, and arching her brows. She tightened her arms over her chest, not liking how naked she felt without her armor, but there had been no way around that, "Usually, there are multiple catches. What's this one?"

Harrowmont began pacing, his hands clasped behind his back.

"In this type of situation, a vote from the Assembly is not enough. And that isn't about to happen, not with the dissension that has been sown," He paused briefly and then went on, "My people need words with more weight and pull than any of the lords and ladies have here in Orzammar. And the Assembly needs a decided voice to settle the disputes. A voice from the Ancestors or the Stone herself."

Ffion was watching him through narrowed lids. It was all well and good that his voice was powerful and his passion was shining through, but she couldn't stop that little needling telling her this wasn't going to be good for her party.

"And what will that run us?" Alistair asked, feeding off of Ffion's growing suspicions.

Harrowmont was almost wringing his hands as he looked imploringly at Ffion.

"Before I go any further, just... remember our deal, Warden."

Alistair was frowning, his honey colored eyes concerned.

"Deal?" He repeated, "What deal?"

"I'll explain later," Ffion's voice was much sharper than she intended but she was getting pissed, "Way to throw my words back at me, my lord. Can we get on with this? We both know I have no intention of going back on my word."

Harrowmont searched her gaze and then gave a slow nod, satisfied with her promise.

"The word of a Paragon is needed and the one that is... well, I won't say convenient, but... The nearest thing we have to a living Paragon is Branka. She was a brilliant noble who discovered a process of burning coal without the dangerous smoke, which is besides the point. Two years ago, she took her entire household, stewards, courtiers, servants, everyone, into the Deep Roads to search for the Anvil of the Void. They-"

"Anvil of the Void?" Ffion interrupted, "From the legends?"

"All legends have a basis in truth and this one is very true. The Anvil of the Void was used to create the Golems that protected ancient Orzammar," The Dwarf had instantly become teacher and it suited him, "Branka believed that our peoples' greatness could be restored with that piece of history and so she set out to discover the ancient smithy used by Caridin and our ancestors. For the first month we had regular dispatches from her, but they soon grew fewer and farther apart, and then, nothing. The last word from her house was that they had gained Caridin's cross, the deepest part of the Roads that anyone had ever reached. With the frequent stops to take notes and explore different passages, it had taken them some time. But with a small troop, if they were to go straight to the crossroads, and perhaps pick up Branka's trail from there... My scouts estimate a week to Caridin's Cross and from there, it's in the Ancestors hands."

Ffion blinked, not quite understanding what he was telling her, and then her arms dropped and she stared at him in disbelief.

"And you expect us to find this fabled... Anvil?" She asked and heard the barely contained fury, "Is this a joke? I mean that's pretty damn presumptuous, deal or no deal."

"If I don't send you, Bhelen will send his own men," Harrowmont answered sharply, "It has to be Branka, there's no way around that, and it's gone from a race against one another to a race against the clock. The Assembly will be pushing the vote in two weeks, so you can see the reason behind the urgency."

"'It's hardly right,'" Alistair muttered darkly, "That's the biggest understatement, ever."

Harrowmont was still looking at Ffion and he shrugged, saying simply,

"We have a deal."

She rolled her eyes ceiling ward and then met his gaze again.

"We have a deal," She repeated, "Quite the damn deal. Tell me we at least get maps."

"Of course," Harrowmont pulled a hefty stack of papers from his desk, "These are all the correspondence and maps that have been discovered, sent, or drawn up brand new," He handed these to Ffion, eyeing her carefully, "Are we agreed then? You'll search for Branka or whatever may remain of her and her house?"

Ffion couldn't promise that and Harrowmont knew it. She took the papers in her arms and searched the Dwarf's face. His desperation to get this done and the obvious embarrassment at having to ask this favor was almost enough to soften her, but then she remembered just what he was asking and it disappeared. Hating the fact that she had trapped herself with that promise to help and not able to worm around it, she lifted her shoulders.

"Tell you what, we'll go back to Tapsters, have a few drinks-"

"Probably curse your name,"Alistair interrupted and then added with a sheepish smile, "With all due respect."

"And talk this over with the others," Ffion continued, sending the ex-Templar a quick grin, "Considering the way rumors and general news travels in the city, we will just let the normal channels inform you of what we end up doing. It shouldn't take too much eavesdropping or bribery. And with any luck, we'll see you in two weeks, at the Assembly's vote."


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: **Sorry about the delay, kind of a rough couple of weeks. Hope you enjoy and take care!

* * *

Ffion didn't wait for Harrowmont's reply and left the room with Alistair and Tilly. They gathered up the others, refusing to give details until they were back at Tapsters. Once there, Sten commandeered a table in the corner, chasing away a group of merchant Dwarves that had been headed for it as well. Ffion began spreading her maps and the letters out while Alistair and Zevran went for drinks, and Morrigan leaned one hip against the table and watched the Warden. Wynne had gone upstairs for a restorative potion, not liking the look of pinched pain in Ffion's face, and Leliana snagged the chair closest to her, looking over the maps. Her pale blue eyes went wide as she realized what they covered and she glanced up at the Warden incredulously.

"The Deep Roads?" She questioned, "Are you quite serious?"

"Unfortunately... yes," She answered and braced herself for the onslaught.

"Oh, dear," The Orlesian sighed, cupping her chin in her palm as she examined the maps more closely.

"Are there not enough-"

"Listen, before you all explode, let's at least wait until everyone is here," Ffion interrupted Sten with her hands held up in a beseeching manner, "Nothing's been decided."

Morrigan snorted, folding her arms across her chest. Her gold eyes were annoyed and she exchanged glances with the Qunari.

"Do not play us for fools, Ffion," She said bitingly, "'Tis quite-"

"A fool, my lovely? You? Was that a confession?" Zevran was grinning as he and Alistair returned and Wynne appeared at Ffion's elbow, "Are we telling our deepest secrets? Makes for an excellent drinking game, yes?"

"I wouldn't celebrate too much just yet," Ffion cut in. She downed Wynne's potion with a grimace and immediately reached for the wine glass Leliana extended. Her grey eyes were on Morrigan and there was more than a hint of warning there, "You guys might want to sit down. We have some things to discuss."

With Alistair's help, Ffion relayed Harrowmont's request; putting up with the constant interruptions with admirable patience, she thought. When everything was, quite literally, on the table, the young Warden sat back and sipped at her red wine, waiting for the fireworks. Leliana reached out and was playing with the corner of one of the maps as though her fingers missed her harp. Wynne was frowning at Ffion, Zevran had remained uncharacteristically silent throughout the whole explanation and was still tight-lipped, while Morrigan and Sten once more swapped disgusted expressions.

"So this..." Morrigan swept one hand to encompass their gathering, "'Twas all for show then? You have clearly made up your mind, did you make up ours as well? Or do we get a say in this... catastrophe at all?"

Ffion blinked at the venom and slowly placed her goblet back on the table.

"Morrigan, you know I'd never consider doing that," She replied quietly, more hurt than angry at the witch's unfair assumption, "Whether you choose to follow me this time or not is entirely up to you. You're right, though, my mind is made up. Harrowmont gave me maps that detail the safest route to Caridin's Cross and from there... it's in the Maker's hands. But you all should know that my plan is to leave as soon as I've restocked."

"You know I'm in," Alistair said immediately and, try as he might, he couldn't hide the nervousness from his voice which somehow made it more endearing, "Although it's not my ideal spot for a vacation."

Zevran lifted his mug to Ffion, his eyes dancing.

"I am yours, my pet," He told her, his voice a purr as Alistair rolled his eyes, "And you cannot dispose of me so easily. Besides, Chirpy will persist in stumbling into traps; someone needs to catch him, yes?"

"I am in, too, Ffion," Leliana's lilting voice was quieter than usual, but it successfully halted Alistair's protest to Zevran's comment, "You have not led me astray and it would be wrong to desert you now."

"Me too," Wynne was firm, though her smile was as warm as ever as she looked at both the Wardens, "Leaving you without a healer? Maker forbid!"

Ffion smiled with the rest and couldn't help but glance at Sten and Morrigan as she stroked Tilly's ears. She struggled to keep the judgement from her eyes, knowing that was a sure-fire way to kill whatever agreement she might wring from them. Sten was gazing at her steadily, his violet eyes puzzled, as though he was trying to figure out what she was planning. Morrigan, meanwhile, was fiddling with her belt, eyes fixed on her work as her full lips pressed together.

"I think this is insanity," The Qunari finally said, "These Dwarves are using you, but I suppose your methods are not pure either."

Ffion's mouth tipped in a rather wicked smile as she inclined her head.

"No, they aren't," She agreed, "And Harrowmont knows that. He's getting what he wants out of this and I'm getting what I want."

"Yes, I see that," Sten's powerful shoulders lifted and he added, "I don't like this, Ffion, but I owe you my life. My blade is yours."

Morrigan muttered what sounded like several unbecoming curses at both Ffion and Sten, and her gold eyes snapped up to the Qunari.

"You _had_ to use a reasonable argument," She said darkly and then shook her head as she turned her attention to Ffion, "Trusting fools, all of you, and I may be the worst yet. 'Tis absurd and I do not agree, but you have my aid as well."

Ffion had to fight to keep the smug smile from her lips. Instead she nodded again and glanced around at all of them.

"Then we're decided," She commented, "I'll go ahead and-"

"No, this time I'm putting my foot down, Ffion," The Enchanter's tone was such that they didn't even consider arguing with her, "Meeting with Harrowmont was one thing; going into the Deep Roads when not one hundred percent? No, someone else will do the restocking while you wait here and rest."

This time Ffion couldn't prevent the grin from curling her lips and she ducked her head.

"Yes, ma'am," She answered meekly and then glanced around the table again.

"I'll go, dear," Leliana offered, seeing Ffion's look, "Anything specific or just the usual?"

"The usual," The Warden replied slowly as she swirled her wine around her glass, "Splurge on whatever we'll need for potions. Fresh stuff would be great if you can find it; if not... we'll have to make due."

"I'll go with you, Leliana," Alistair cut in, finishing off his mug and getting to his feet, "I need some more whetstones anyway."

"More?" Leliana repeated, disbelief in her voice, "Honestly, Alistair, you need to take up archery. Your costs would decrease drastically, no?"

They continued out, bickering like brother and sister, and Wynne got Ffion to her feet to shepherd her up the stairs and check her injury. Zevran was leaning across the table with that feral grin for the others. He waved one hand for another round and his voice floated up to Ffion, who couldn't help but chuckle,

"About that game of secrets, lovely, now we can play properly, yes?"

* * *

"I am being serious, Alistair," Leliana commented as they wandered through the Commons, searching for available supplies, "Archery is not so difficult if you apply yourself."

Alistair was shaking his head, his honey colored eyes unimpressed.

"Drop it," He replied dryly, "I've never been able to hit a target unless I have a sword in my hands and am standing within a few feet of it. Besides, I look like an idiot shooting a bow."

Leliana giggled, picturing that with much more ease than she thought she would. She studied him for a moment before she continued.

"You must have faith, my dear," She said simply and her cheeks dimpled, "I don't think it looks foolish."

"That's because you're built for it," He gave a wave that encompassed her small, petite frame, "You and Ffion both. It looks fine when you two use a bow. It's almost kind of like... I don't know, dancing, I guess. Or... kind of... Oh, Maker's breath! Nevermind!"

The Orlesian was instantly amused. Alistair's obvious soft spot for his fellow Warden was too easy a spot to jab, and she really couldn't help herself.

"Dancing?" She repeated, trailing after the ex-Templar as he approached a table with potion bottles lining the table top, "Yes, I suppose one could draw a comparison. I always thought it was comparable to sex, no? Becoming one with the bow, knowing each twist and turn of the wood, and how the string sighs with the slightest touch... Perhaps I will ask Ffion's opinion."

Alistair's eyes almost bugged out of his head and he stopped so abruptly it was like he ran into an invisible wall. The idea of someone having a discussion with _Ffion_ about... No, it wasn't to be born!

"You – you can't be serious?" He asked weakly and felt color rush to his cheeks, "Ffion doesn't... I mean, she can't know about... that..."

Leliana was dimpling at him in her most becoming manner, winking a little as she replied,

"You think not? Myself, I believe she has much more experience than anyone imagines. Zevran would not be so enamored of her otherwise, no?"

"No!" Alistair exclaimed, horrified. His color deepened as he realized the other shoppers were staring at them. He met the Orlesian's gaze and it dawned on him what she was doing. Letting out a half annoyed, half angry huff of breath, he added, "That's just... cruel."

"You do not wish us to... enlighten her, then?"

The ex-Templar continued to the stand, tossing over his shoulder,

"No, you shouldn't even... Oh, just... shut up."


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N:** Late, I know, sorry about that. I've made it a little longer than usual for you guys, hope you enjoy! Oh, and I altered the usual course of events a little because it just worked better for me. Once again, Dragon Age belongs solely to Bioware and I am only a fan... most unfortunately. Take care!

* * *

It was nearly three hours later before they were ready and Wynne would have delayed them further if Ffion had not forced the issue by simply getting out of bed and shrugging into her armor. And that was only the first snag. The second was figuring out what they were going to do with Syd. The barkeep at Tapsters was kind enough to inform them that taking the donkey into the Deep Roads would only increase their chances of attack since the Darkspawn seemed drawn to beasts. And they were kind enough to refrain from mentioning that as Wardens they would attract quite enough attention on their own. Finally, after agreeing cover any additional costs, they talked the inn owner into keeping the donkey there in his stables until the party returned.

Another snag was trying to divvy up the supplies between them. Sten would have shouldered practically everything had Ffion not put that discussion to death fairly quickly. She knew that the length of the trip would wear on everyone in time and there was no need to welcome that prematurely. They had things spread between their three rooms for the better part of an hour and a half before they finally figured it all out and started down the street to the entrance of the Deep Roads.

As they came up on the huge ornate double doors, the company of Dwarves that was guarding them stepped forward. The commander of the troop singled out Ffion and gave her a short bow.

"I'm sorry, Warden, I know what you mean to do and I can't let you in," He said formally but firmly.

Ffion was frowning, her brows drawing together. Her lips parted to question him, but she was interrupted by a new voice as a burly Dwarf stepped from the shadows.

"Hell wi' formalities, man. This Warden is tryin' t' help us, let her, I say."

The top of this Dwarf's head came to Ffion's shoulder as he approached them. His armor was dark grey iron, finely crafted and well taken care of, but there was no weapon slung on his back and it looked as though he was painfully aware of this. His belt was also empty, save for a battered flask and another little pouch like the ones Ffion and Morrigan wore. The red hair was cut short, and they would have guessed it and the braided beard and mustache were dyed had the rest of the Dwarf's appearance not been what it was. His face was haggard, there were deep shadows under his green eyes, and the slight slur in his word affirmed the impression that he had just rolled to his feet off the tavern floor that afternoon. And then again, maybe it was that he had been drunk so often he had developed the impediment on his own. Ffion's family had had a groundskeeper like that, a man that had spent most of his young adulthood bouncing between taverns he never remembered, and it had taken their toll on his speech. She could still remember the way he would smile at her and Fergus, drawling out their names, always ready to show them some new sleight-of-hand trick that her brother was quick to master... But that was long in the past and the commander was now answering the Dwarf's charge.

"The law is the same, Oghren, though I suppose..." He trailed off and eyed first the Dwarf and then Ffion. Something flickered in his face and he gave a little nod, turning his attention on the Warden. There was a gleam in his gaze, like a restrained joy, and he went on, "I suppose if Oghren is with you, that changes things, Warden. The law states that you must have a representative or written approval from one of the Deshyrs to venture into the Deep Roads. I'm aware of the fact that Lord Harrowmont has requested this, but with our unsettled Assembly... well, anyone could claim such a thing."

"But-"

"But with Oghren's presence, things are in a different light," The commander interrupted Ffion without blinking and then glanced at the red-headed Dwarf, "You are going in with them, right?"

"'Course," Oghren's answer was gruff and automatic.

"Well, then," The commander waved to his men and they moved back to run the crank and open the doors, "The very best of luck to you, Warden. Atrast tunsha."

With a creak and groan of chains, the doors swung open, and two of the guards followed them in the short hall to open up the second set that appeared as well. Ffion found that she and Oghren together took the first step into the massive tunnel that yawned before them and it was only then that the others followed. The ceiling soared away above them, the packed earth supported on either side by colossal pillars that were carved and etched with designs and runes as old as time itself. The passage dwindled away to the left while the right hand side was blocked by a massive slide of stone and dirt. There was a river of lava directly ahead that followed the path they found themselves on, and though it cast everything in a red light, it was bright enough that they wouldn't need torches.

Ffion turned to Oghren with her arms folded over her chest as the others clustered around her. Her brows went up and she studied the Dwarf with interest. He wasn't paying too much attention, instead he was pulling out a big battleaxe and slinging it onto his back with a look of relief.

"Do you want to-"

"Yer gonna need me, Warden," He interrupted as he met her gaze with a directness that was rather refreshing, "Yer goin' after Branka? Well, I'm yer man. I know where she was headed an' I know what t' look for."

"And why should you be privy to that, Dwarf?" Sten's voice was cold.

Oghren's green eyes went around to the group as though suddenly realizing that it wasn't just himself and Ffion that had entered the Deep Roads. He couldn't seem to help but leer at Morrigan, Wynne, and Leliana before his eyes landed on the Qunari. Sten's appearance startled him, but unlike others, he wasn't too intimidated or fazed, and he was looking back at Ffion again.

"There's nothin' bu' my word t' prove it, but I used t' be part of Branka's house," He replied simply, "Tha's been chewed up an' spit out now, an' doesn't change th' fact tha' I still know how t' find the girl."

"Important member, hmm?" Zevran's voice was all speculation, "Marriage does that quite easily, yes?"

The Dwarf snorted, rubbing one large square palm over his shorn hair.

"Nothin' chews ya up an' spits you out like a pissed off wife," He agreed and shrugged his heavy shoulders, "I won' give ya the whole story now. Le's jus' say spendin' too many nights passed out drunk at Tapsters didn' help."

"I can't imagine it would," Alistair cut in, "And we're already in here; we don't have much of a choice, Ffion."

Oghren gave the ex-Templar a nod.

"Yer pike-twirler's righ', Warden," He said.

"'Pike-twirler?'" Alistair repeated as Zevran laughed.

"Yes!" The Elf exclaimed, grinning at Oghren, "Perfect, and much better than Chirpy, yes?"

Alistair's cheeks were tinted red as he continued frowning at the Dwarf. His honey colored eyes were confused.

"Because of the sword? How do you get 'pike-twirler' from that?"

Oghren gave another shrug, his green eyes scanning their surroundings as he shifted his pack around and started down the path. He clearly wasn't going to be talked out of accompanying them and he was leaving them no choice but to fall in.

"Ya need somethin' with a little more weigh' behind yer swings. Yer Qunari has the righ' idea."

Ffion was walking next to the Dwarf and she gave Alistair a little wave to keep him from responding to that. Her grey eyes were on Oghren and she let out a resigned sigh.

"Well, Oghren, welcome aboard," She said, "Do you want to continue making up names for us or should we make introductions? You and Zevran could swap notes, he has a few nick-names handy."

Oghren looked around at the Elf who grinned at him. He swung back and glanced up at Ffion.

"We migh' not live long 'nough t' learn names, Warden, bu' if ya want, I won't stop ya."

The Warden caught herself just before she released another sigh. She was beginning to sound like her mother. But she knew that Oghren would give Zevran a run for his money as the most unpredictable and irrelevant member of their party. Sticking to her guns and wondering if the Dwarf was purposefully butting heads with her or just being pessimistic, she went on with the introductions. They pressed on in silence for a moment longer when Alistair, shuffling his feet almost self-consciously, finally voiced the question that he knew everyone had to be asking themselves.

"Without anything but our own bodies telling us, how are we supposed to know how long we've been down here?" His gaze met Ffion's as she glanced up at him with a frown, "I mean, Harrowmont said the vote was being pushed in two weeks, right? So we're just going to, what, beeline for this smithy that we're not even sure exists?"

"Surprisingly, he has a point," Morrigan cut in, "'Tis something we must decide, Ffion."

The Warden's frown deepened, but it was Oghren that spoke next.

"Lemme see yer maps, Warden."

Everyone halted beside him and Ffion was setting her pack on the carved stone, pulling the maps carefully from one of the pockets. She bent over them with the Dwarf and felt Alistair move in next to her. Oghren's gloved fingers walked along the inked path for a moment and he was muttering quietly to himself before he met Ffion's gaze again.

"We're lookin' fer shortcuts, yeah? Well, if it'r me, I'd go this way," He trailed one fingertip south, on the map, from the symbol that designated his city. The map was worn and the ink was faded in the corners, but it was clear that that would be the quickest route. Even so, Ffion felt a prickling of unease as he passed over a little group of what was supposed to be individual rooms. She couldn't help but wonder what was in there. The Dwarf went on, "Looks like tha's supposed t' be Caridin's Cross there. An' that means... two an' a half days, my guess."

Ffion studied the map, taking that in without a word, though she did exchange glances with Alistair. They were both thinking the same thing: if it took two and a half days to reach the crossroads, what would the timeline be after that?

Oghren was shuffling through the rest of the papers that the Warden had pulled loose and he suddenly let out a huff of breath.

"I'll b'damned," He said in disbelief and was studying another map. His green eyes were on the Warden and he continued, "Did ya see this one? It was folded up in wi' th' others."

Ffion leaned closer and looked over the map the Dwarf held. It was in worse shape than the one spread on the floor, but it seemed to be a continuation of it. Her brows furrowed together again and she plucked it from Oghren's fingers, lining it up with its partner. She drew back a little so the others could see and Leliana, studying them with narrowed blue eyes, read the small print next to one of the symbols.

"The Dead Trenches," Her voice was soft, the name spoken reluctantly, "Lovely name, no?"

"It's wha' we need," Oghren replied and repeated his careful reckoning of the miles, "It'd be 'nother... maybe four days."

Ffion gave a nod, her suspicions confirmed. They weren't going to have any extra time.

"Then let's get moving," She said with finality, gathering up the maps and replacing them in her pack.

They pressed on, sometimes talking amongst themselves, but for the most part staying silent. It was so much easier to hear what might be coming around any corners... or rather in their case, what was coming head-on at them. So far the stone 'road', according to Oghren, hadn't veered from its straight-shot leading them further into the earth. The Dwarf would have been a wealth of information, if they could have kept him on one topic for any length of time. But he had a trick of bouncing around, never letting them stay too long on a subject that interested any of them, and he did indeed succeed in being as irreverent as Zevran. The Elf was the only one of them that truly seemed to appreciate Oghren's surliness and his usually vulgar talk.

The only things Alistair and Ffion managed to learn of his private life in their joint campaign was that he had belonged to the house Kondrat before marrying Branka and she, with the power behind her own house, had absorbed his. He had also been quite a promising member of the warrior caste before something happened... And that's where the Dwarf changed the subject, thwarting and frustrating them at every turn. He also had a trick of veering off and studying the walls with intense concentration before joining them again. And he refused to elaborate on this, too.

Even with these traits, the Dwarf was an excellent addition to their party. Having lived in Orzammar his entire life, he knew how to judge the times. Though Morrigan had had a point when she questioned whether or not it really mattered while they were down here, apart from their deadline, she turned out to be wrong.

The road had reluctantly changed from its monotonous, beeline-type course, and it was only because there had been another cave in. To the right of this was an opening that stretched dimly, bridging the lava river, the light from which was not quite strong enough to penetrate the darkness. Tilly let out a tired sigh once they had ventured about 20 yards down this new tunnel, and she dropped to her haunches, whining at Ffion.

"The dog's got th' righ' idea," Oghren observed as everyone stopped, "We've covered 'nough ground t'day, Warden. Le's make camp 'ere."

Ffion didn't mind the Dwarf making that call. He knew so much more about this area than any of them and she was willing to trust his judgement. She gave a nod, noting that the others had been waiting on her approval, which both annoyed and pleased her. Having them depend so wholly on her word was beginning to chaff a little, nevermind that this was what she had wanted since she saw how her brother's men devoted themselves so completely to him.

She untied her share of their packs and let it hit the ground with relief. It was only then that she realized how tired she was, and she almost would have skipped her tent entirely had Wynne not wanted to check her wound. There was no way she would allow that while everyone was watching. So she staked it, noting with an odd little rush of pleasure that Alistair was setting up his own right beside hers. She sent him a warm smile as Wynne ushered her within the privacy of her tent and wondered why the ex-Templar's face was suddenly bright red.

Oghren, not bothering with a tent, was sitting on his bedroll with flask in hand and he caught that little exchange between the Wardens. He grunted, shaking his head as he took another swig. The alcohol was creating that pleasant haze that he had been searching for, and then came the soft warning voice that told him he would have to watch his supply. Two weeks would probably be cutting it close. But than that other, louder voice was drowning it out, saying flippantly: 'Eh, what the hell!'

So, he sat there and watched this odd little band that he had fallen in with. The Elf, whom he recognized as a kindred spirit, and the girl Warden, Ffion, were the only two that he felt particularly drawn to. The Enchanter was another good one, he knew, and the pike-twirler was dependable at least. The others though... The Qunari clearly didn't want anything to do with him, nor did the witch, though he had plenty of reason to get cozy with _her_... And the red-haired bard was another he would have no argument against getting to know, though she seemed more interested in her music; and he couldn't help but notice the glances she cast at Ffion. _Figures!_ He thought rather bitterly.

What fascinated him the most was how each and every one of them revolved around Ffion. The young Warden was not particularly impressive. She was small and slender, and though her voice carried and held a note of command, that note of born and bred nobility that expected to be heeded, nothing else really supported her position of leadership. And still all of them waited for her word, for her wave of agreement, or the frown that meant she was going to argue or disagree. And even when _they_ didn't agree with _her_, none of them put their foot down or tried to go against her wishes with any of the drastic measures that he was used to seeing.

Ffion suddenly appeared again, fastening her armor in place, following his suggestion of trying to sleep in it since no one knew what to expect in the Deep Roads. She approached his spot with a small smile, her dog trailing behind, as always. She didn't presume an invitation to sit, and met his gaze squarely, both of which he appreciated.

"They're signs of Branka, right?" She questioned, "Those scratches on the stone?"

He grinned, the flask doing its work, and his natural liking of this girl finishing off his determination to keep details from her. Tipping the flask in her direction, he gave a slow nod, the floor wanting to come up and play with his face if he made any sudden movements.

"She's qui'e th' girl," He replied and even he could hear how quickly that new brew went to work.

Ffion's nose tickled with the smell of the ale and, though she had very little hands-on experience with it, her novice senses told her the Dwarf would be hurting in the morning. She shook her head a little and then decided to try and wring whatever she could from him while in this state.

"Is that her way of leaving her mark? Or did she know that someone might come look for her?"

"Branka? Na, she's jus' leavin' her mark," Oghren gave up trying to focus on her and lay back, carefully cradling the flask so that nothing spilled, "Don' ya worry yer 'ead, War'en. We'll fin' her an' ya'll ge' yer king crowned."

She shook her head again, mentally making the note to skip Oghren as far as watches went while they were down here. At least until she was sure that he would be able to handle them without passing out. The prone Dwarf started giggling, realizing what he said, and the Warden was smiling before she could help it. It was quite obvious what he was thinking.

"Good night, Oghren," She said quietly and retreated to her tent as the Dwarf repeated,

"Ha, crown yer king. Ge' it, Warden? Hee, hee!"

* * *

Teagan was sitting, slump shouldered at Eamon's desk. He ran both hands through his mussed hair and held his head for a moment. The Arl's health was failing even more and Isolde was becoming frantic. Conner's return was a miracle and Teagan could only thank the Maker and his mercy for the boy's recovery. Without him, the Arlessa would have long ago done something drastic.

Gaile, the Elven mage, was another reason to be thankful. She had taken Conner completely under her wing and was guarding him against using any form of magic unless she was present. She was also the one who had pointed out Eamon's sudden decline. Her abilities at healing were wonderful and she had been tending to the Arl whenever she had the chance and just that morning, during her update with Teagan, she voiced her concerns.

"My lord, he is fading," She said with a crease between her brows that accentuated her worries, "He was strong when I first examined him, clinging to what life he had with profound determination, and I am not sure what has caused this change."

"Is it because of Conner?" Teagan asked, voicing the first thing that came to mind.

Gaile's frown deepened, her pale green eyes lost in thought. Finally she gave him a small nod.

"I had not considered that," She replied, "It is possible that Conner had found a way to keep his father strong even as the demon ate away at his own soul. Very interesting, but not what you need to hear. We may have to act much sooner than the Wardens can."

Teagan sighed, his strength sapping at the thought. There had been no word from either Ffion and Alistair, or the soldiers that had departed for Denerim. Both of whom had left with all the speed they could muster. And as far as his own men went, there had been a rumor of finding mounts a little ways out from the village, but if that had been the case, some sort of missive should have shown up by now. And that was _with_ the unrest in Ferelden. The Bann had dismissed Gaile to watch over his brother and nephew more closely than ever and to let him know the instant anything changed, and then he sat and considered what all of this could mean.

It was very grim.

Eamon was needed to stop Loghain and help Alistair come around to the idea of taking his father's throne. That had been decided between himself and Ffion before they left for Orzammar. The young Warden was adamant that Alistair step up and it had taken Teagan some time to convince her to wait. He knew that his adoptive nephew would be resistant to any talk of it and so wanted to wait for Eamon. Which now seemed unlikely to come about.

_Stop it!_ He told himself fiercely, sitting up straight, and trying to convince himself to keep the faith even in the face of its complete impracticality. If Eamon didn't get well, then he would step up himself and do whatever he could to help. And that would be a fight in itself. Eamon had always been the statesman, knowing the right thing to say and when to say it, while Teagan never had the patience for it. But he would learn, if he had to.

There was a sudden knock on the office door and he straightened himself more before he called an answer. It was opened by Owen's daughter Valena who was the only one from the village to return to the castle and Isolde after the Wardens left. Her loyalty was endearing and sweet, and had given all of them reason to hold out and hope.

"Here, my lord," She said, extending one hand with a cream colored envelope between her fingers, "This just arrived. The messenger is in the kitchen if you'd like to see him."

Teagan couldn't hide his eagerness. He snatched the message from her and tore it open as he recognized the handwriting. It was a short note, scribbled in an obvious hurry:

_Bann Teagan, There was a betrayal. Brother Genitivi's protege was found murdered and an impostor was in place here. He preferred an attack to an interrogation and was killed in the assault. There were notes here though that I've sent with the messenger. It appears the Brother had come quite close and was led to the village of Haven. We are headed back to Redcliffe with all haste and hope this finds you well._

_- Captain Mevan_

Teagan actually found himself smiling a little as he looked back at Valena who returned it. Her green eyes were questioning and she cocked her head, asking with that refreshing bluntness that had to have come from her father,

"Good news, I hope?"

"Better than I expected," He answered and got to his feet, feeling how tired he was as he did so, "That messenger is in the kitchen? I'll see him now. The only thing we can do is hope that the Wardens return in time."

"Then there's nothing to fear, my lord," Valena had clearly found a hero in Ffion and her eyes were shining with absolute faith. It was a simple, childlike faith, and something Teagan needed to see. Knowing there was someone who just implicitly trusted that everything would work in their favor was a breath of fresh air and the girl cemented this as she added, "She won't let us down."


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N:** Alright, so I've made the decision that my chapters need to be a little bit longer because this story just keeps growing and growing. Good for you guys, right? And hopefully I can keep it up. So, here's to looking forward to a busy spring, posting chapters for you, planning and planting my garden, and having a good crop... that last bit sounded farmerish, right? :-D All the best - catalina

* * *

"Ogres are a whole hell of a lot easier to take down when there's nine instead of one," Ffion said in a relieved breath, wiping her blades clean of the ogre blood.

"'One?'" Zevran and Oghren repeated it in unison with the same note of disbelief that made the young Warden grin at them.

"One," She confirmed, "Though since it was in the Fade, I'm not sure that..." Her voice trailed off and both she and Alistair stiffened in the same instant.

"More Darkspawn," Alistair said shortly as Leliana sent him a questioning look.

"Lots of them," Ffion agreed.

The Orlesian paused in putting the bow back and instead tightened her hold as she fell in behind the Wardens with Sten beside her. Morrigan and Wynne brought up the rear while Zevran and Oghren finished off the wall of defenders that would be between them and any threat. This was done without a word or command from Ffion; it was now a mere reflex.

Oghren had been correct in his reckoning and they had reached the Caridin's Cross within their two and a half days, and that had been almost four days ago. The path had switched back and forth between its stone 'road' and the dirt tunnels that made both Leliana and Morrigan nervous; neither one of them liked the close quarters. The decay and destruction of the Deep Roads was more evident the further they traveled and the labyrinthine set-up made them doubly grateful for Oghren. Rather hopeless drunk or not, he made an excellent guide through the Roads. And he became just as enamored of the Wardens and their companions as the Wardens were of him. Alistair and Ffion both were given chances to prove their worth in the highly regarded Order. The Darkspawn were not teeming like they usually would have been, again according to Oghren, but they were alive and well, lurking in whatever space provided them security. Even considering some of the more ingenious hiding spots the creatures had, the taint within the Wardens gave the party ample warning and they were never in too much danger of being overwhelmed. Ffion's was still that high intensity, almost buzz-like irritation that had been so unnerving at Ostagar and in the Fade, while Alistair's six months, almost seven now, of experience had centered him enough that she drew a calm from him. And the added presence of the others was just a huge bonus. They had found that protecting Leliana, Wynne, and Morrigan from the head-on, swarming attack the creatures favored, and keeping them well clear of the melee action, worked like a dream. Leliana was deadly with her aim, the witch caused destruction more readily than any of the Darkspawn, and Wynne, when not healing their bumps and bruises, was just as competent in the offensive as any other mage.

And now Oghren was proving to be right once more. His gruff voice was immediately to Ffion's right.

"This is 'em, Ffion," He said, one of the few times he had used her first name, "Th' Dead Trenches."

"Wonderful," Alistair muttered.

They left the cavern and the scattered bodies of the Darkspawn, and entered the most magnificent room they had seen yet. It was huge, the ceiling rocketed over them, and the full expertise of the Dwarven architects were on display. The runes were etched into the stone deeply, withstanding the test of time and anything the Darkspawn threw at them. Straight ahead there was a vast chasm where heat from the lava pools was visible, roiling up around a long broad bridge that led to a set of massive double doors. The sheer intimidation of the room was enough to bring the party to an abrupt halt and the scene they stumbled upon even had the usually unflappable Oghren arching his brows.

At their end of the bridge, there was a troop of Dwarves that were battling about two dozen of the Darkspawn. They were holding their own, too, and by the time Ffion's party shook off the surprise of seeing them and hurried to help, they had whittled it down to less than ten. With the added nine, there was next to no fight whatsoever.

The commander of the troop turned to them as the last Hurlock was cut down, and he eyed Oghren and Alistair who were both standing a little forward of the rest.

"You have my thanks," He said, his deep voice calm, "But what in the hell are you all doing down here? I didn't think any of you topsiders came in this far."

"We're on War'en business," Oghren answered and his disdain for whatever these Dwarves happened to be doing was quite evident, "An' we don' need help from th' dead."

He attempted to usher them down the bridge, but Ffion was having none of it. The troop was about eight strong and they were outfitted with matching armor, dark grey like Oghren's but with different designs etched in the surface. Their faces were tattooed with what looked like runes and it was clear from the way they interacted, the appearance of their armor, and the loving care they took of their weapons, they had been here for some time. The commander was a shade taller than Oghren, standing forward, and studying the party with the same concentration that Ffion was eyeing his. He had pulled his helm from his clean shaven head and the two braids in his beard were thick and short.

"The dead?" It was Wynne repeating Oghren's words, and then she added with profound respect in her voice, "The Legion of the Dead. May the Maker and the Stone guide you in your fight."

The commander blinked at the Enchanter, not expecting anyone in this little ragtag band to recognize the Dwarven order for what it was. His brown eyes were suddenly impressed and he inclined his head.

"And you as well, mage," He said and then glanced back at Alistair, his eyes briefly flickering over Ffion as the young Warden moved to his side, "Wardens, huh? You travel in good company, but I've never heard of the Order coming as far as Bownammar. Has something happened?"

"Nothing," Alistair answered before Ffion could. He could practically feel the questions bubbling up within her and her grey eyes were very curious as she looked at the commander. They didn't have time to sit and chat with the troop, no matter how starved they were for anyone outside of their little band, "We're trying to find any evidence of the Paragon Branka."

The Dwarf snorted, his gaze becoming rather contemptuous again.

"That's probably a lost cause," He replied and ignored the way Oghren drew himself up, "This line is crucial to keeping those bastards back and they keep pushing it forward. We lost the bridge two days ago and if you mean to go on, we'd appreciate the help in gaining the ground again. After that though, you're on your own."

Ffion felt the swirl of the Darkspawn taint spike again and she couldn't help the unconscious stiffening of her body. Tilly whined quietly, feeding off of Ffion's emotions, as usual, and she stroked the Mabari's ears absentmindedly as she answered,

"That's fair enough, and more than we should expect. My thanks."

He nodded again and, without even a wave from him, his men were falling in with Ffion's party. They advanced down the bridge and were able to make it halfway before there was a series of pops and hisses and Morrigan cursed swiftly. They were suddenly surrounded by the heavily cloaked creatures that reminded Ffion of the Fade. She and Zevran both wheeled about in unison, diving back to go up against the ones making for the witch and Wynne. Two of the legionnaires joined them and the fight was over practically before it started.

"Shrieks," Wynne was saying softly, crouching to examine one of the creatures, "I never expected to see them here."

"You make it a point to know obscure monsters?" The commander was asking, his voice almost amused.

The Enchanter was smiling a little, using her staff to straighten herself, and pushing a lock of white hair behind one ear.

"When one studies demonology I suppose you could make that point, yes," She replied and then motioned with one graceful hand, "But now is not the time. It's probably more important for us to move on, correct?"

"Correct," Sten agreed, keeping his broadsword in his hands, "And the only thing we really need to know is how to kill them."

Zevran caught a shorn strap of Ffion's pack and retied it as she thanked him. His smile was wicked, his amber eyes on Sten.

"A true Qunari answer, my friend," He commented, giving Ffion's shoulder a pat, "There you are, dove."

They continued down the bridge, the young Warden forgetting her embarrassment at his attentions as her senses heightened again. She felt Alistair stiffen beside her and they crowded behind a heap of broken stone that had dropped there long ago. The commander was looking between the two of them, waiting for their word.

"Leliana, Morrigan, Wynne, we'll repeat what's worked in the past," Ffion was single-minded as she gave out orders, "Commander, you know what your men are capable of and so I'll let you decide where to place them. We've found that ranged attacks are the most effective and put them to use in tipping the odds in our favor."

"Works for me," He answered.

Three of the Dwarves broke from their comrades and were sidling over to stand with Leliana. Once more, it was done without a word from their commander and Ffion couldn't help but be impressed. She shook herself mentally and went on.

"All right, you six will cover us. Try to give Zevran and me an opportunity to slip in behind the enemy. It's so much easier for us to work that way."

"Sten, Oghren, and me will draw their attention, Ffion," Alistair put in, "That won't change."

"And we four will be with you," The commander added.

Ffion found one of the legionnaires at her other elbow and she gave him a nod. Tilly pushed her head into her lady's arm and the young Warden stroked her nose.

"You're with me, Tilly, no worries," She said softly.

Leliana looked around at their group and her blue eyes were alight with excitement. She tossed her copper hair back and murmured to them all,

"The Maker guide your hands."

"And the Stone catch you if you fall," The commander's voice was just as soft and just as passionate.

Nothing more needed to be said and they left their hiding place, hurrying down the bridge before they were spotted. The group of Darkspawn that had taken control was an impressive force, but it wasn't huge. And the creatures certainly weren't expecting a full, head-on assault, which worked in the party's favor. The surprise of the attack startled the Darkspawn enough that they began retreating, giving Ffion, Zevran, Tilly, and the legionnaire a chance to slip in amongst them and start hacking away. Leliana and the Dwarven archers covered the other warriors so completely that there was no chance for the Darkspawn archers to gain control. Everything was coming off flawlessly until the ogre came barreling out from one of the dark corners and charged Alistair's group. The monster scattered the force, crushing one of the legionnaires, but his attack was too late. Ffion took out the alpha Hurlock that was causing trouble and the two Genlocks that were with him, and by the time she surveyed the room, Oghren was leaping onto the ogre, burying his battleaxe it its head, and proving to be much more nimble on his feet than anyone would have guessed. The young Warden stooped and cleaned her blades with a rag that was hanging off one of the Genlocks' bodies. As she returned to her group, the commander approached her.

"The Stone truly blessed us with you, Warden," He said, "With all of you. My name's Kardol, by the way, though being dead kind of negates mentioning it. Like I said earlier, we'll have to hold this position, but I wish you luck in your expedition. The Stone guide you and catch you if you fall."

He gave her a formal bow and turned to his comrades who were surrounding the fallen legionnaire. They took the body in their hands and retreated to the corner opposite of the bridge. Ffion watched a moment longer as they began to chip away at the stone and then she started toward her own party, giving the Dwarves privacy as they buried one of their own.

"It's this way, Ffion," Sten was saying as he led the way opposite the Legion's somber ritual, "Those doors are useless and the only path is here."

Ffion gave Kardol a last nod as he glanced her way and then hurried to catch up with the rest. They wound their way through the tunnel in silence, the Wardens both feeling the tug of the Darkspawn taint. The next room held just a half dozen Hurlocks and Genlocks which were taken care of without trouble, and Oghren found more of Branka's scratches in the stone that led them further into the next rooms and tunnels. Which were all clear, until they came to a pillared hall with one wall that had crumbled long ago, opening up a wide, cavernous room that was heavily shadowed. They were skirting this, following Oghren's direction to the tunnel leading off to the left. The Darkspawn were thick enough here that it was difficult for them to tell exactly where the creatures were, and by the time they could, it was too late.

There was a _twang_ of a bow that wasn't Leliana's and Alistair was letting out a cry of pain, crumpling to the stone floor. Sten, Oghren, and Zevran were instantly whirling to face the room they had avoided and Ffion was dropping to her knees beside the ex-Templar. Leliana stooped to help, but the Warden pushed her away, towards the fighting.

"No," She said shortly, "They need your help more."

Turning her attention back to Alistair, she didn't give their precarious position another thought. The arrow was embedded deep in his thigh and it was bleeding profusely, already leaving a pool and making the ex-Templar's face incredibly pale. Wynne threw up her shield as more arrows sailed their way and they bounced clear. Morrigan stepped forward, grasping the Enchanter's arm.

"Help them," Her cold voice was sharper than usual as she pushed Wynne to the Wardens. She slammed the end of her staff into the ground with barely a glance and the Hurlock making for Zevran was suddenly engulfed in flames, "I will take care of this."

"Hold still, Alistair," Ffion was saying, taking hold of the arrow. Her voice was trembling and she winced when the ex-Templar let out a pained moan, "It has to come out."

She tightened her hold and put her free hand flat on his thigh beside the wound. Glancing up into his honey colored eyes apologetically, she inhaled and pulled hard on the arrow. Alistair couldn't help but let out another cry as it came free and one hand locked onto Ffion's wrist like a vice.

"Wynne!" Ffion called sharply, wincing as the ex-Templar's fingers bit into her skin with enough force to bruise, "Please, help."

The Enchanter was already beside her and she was casting her healing spell with utmost concentration. The bleeding eased and Alistair's breath escaped him in a relieved sigh. Movement behind Wynne caught Ffion's gaze and she glanced up to see a Genlock hurtling towards them. The others had ventured further into the room, Tilly included, and there was no defense between the creature and Wynne's unprotected back. Without a word, Ffion grabbed one of her knives with her free hand and flung it. Her aim was as good as ever and the Genlock dropped. The Enchanter's bright blue eyes met hers in surprise and then she was focused on Alistair again who had eased his grip on Ffion's wrist and instead took her hand in his.

"You should... check on them, Ffion," He said, squeezing her fingers as Wynne bent over his wound.

"He's right," The Enchanter agreed as Ffion's lips parted to argue, "We need to know if there's... just check. I'll take care of this."

The Warden glanced between the two of them and then heard Tilly's booming barks echoing off the walls in the next cavern. She cast one last agonized look at Alistair, whose face was still too pale even with that brief period of blood loss, and jumped to her feet as the Qunari battle-cry followed her hound's barks. When she hurried into the cavern, snatching up her knife as she went, it was just in time to toss it again at the alpha Hurlock going for Morrigan, duck the arrow that was shot at her, and watch with satisfaction as Oghren's huge battleaxe loped the head off of that master archer. She scoped the room and, when nothing else popped up, immediately turned back to Wynne and Alistair. Zevran was beside her before she could blink and one of his slender, graceful hands was in the crook of her elbow.

"Let our lovely Enchanter take care of him, my Warden," He told her, "There is no reason for us to interfere, yes?"

"But-"

"There is nothing to be done for him that Wynne isn't already doing, Ffion," He interrupted her more firmly. Ffion's eyes were still on what she could see of Wynne's white hair and the Elf sighed. He put both hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her onto the big boulder behind them, "Now sit, my dear. You are bleeding, too, so let me tend to you as our Wynne gets Chirpy back to his feet, yes?"

The Warden reluctantly gave in and remained seated as he moved closer. His fingers tipped her chin up and he dabbed at the blood oozing from her temple with the handkerchief he tugged from his pocket. Beyond him, Ffion could see Alistair struggle slowly to his feet and lean on Wynne as they started towards the cavern. Her relief let her see the humor in this situation and she allowed a small smile at Zevran.

"Only you would have a handkerchief handy in the Deep Roads," She observed, letting Tilly lick her fingers when she reached them.

"Works just as well on blood as it does on tears, my little dove," He answered and his full lips tipped in a smile to match hers, "And I would prefer to not have to use it on you at all. So next time you are fighting on pure instincts, keep a more careful eye, yes? That arrow narrowly missed your own pretty one."

Ffion felt her face getting hot and it was only made worse as Wynne and her patient joined them. Alistair was smiling weakly as he eased down beside her. The Enchanter cast her healing spell over Ffion, aiding Zevran in his sojourn into nursing. The Elf sent her a sardonic look and then shrugged his shoulders, giving Ffion the handkerchief, and installing himself on her other side while Tilly moved around to perch at her lady's feet. Wynne was watching the others carefully as they straggled in, but apart from a few splatters of Darkspawn blood, they were unscathed.

"All righ' there, little P.T?" Oghren questioned, looking Alistair over.

"'P.T'...? What – oh, Maker!" The ex-Templar's voice was stronger and though he sounded almost annoyed, his honey colored eyes were beginning to dance as he realized what the Dwarf was calling him, "Yes, I'm fine. Shortened. Thanks."

Oghren's thick beard and mustache hid his mouth, but it was clear he was grinning. He nodded and leaned on his battleaxe.

"It'll stick an' ya'll hate it in a few 'ours."

Ffion was smiling broadly now as well and her gaze met Alistair's.

"Are you up for trying again?" She asked, her concern evident.

The ex-Templar stretched his wounded leg slowly, grimacing. Wynne was frowning at him, but he pushed away from the boulder and was standing under his own power. Gingerly, he placed more weight on it and, as soon as he was sure he wouldn't collapse, spread his arms.

"Let's give it a shot."


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N: **Sorry about being late with this one, guys. And this happens to be one of my favorite scenes so far. Of course, Bioware's clever writers and creators receive all the credit for Hespith's chant and a few other quotes I've thrown in. And is it kind of strange to enjoy writing an argument between Ffion and Alistair? Anyway, hope you enjoy!

* * *

This time they had more luck. Wynne had worked wonders for Alistair and though he was a little stiff at first, his leg was soon back to near normal. The long hall that came next was empty and the room after that was more of the same Genlocks and Hurlocks, although this time, more shrieks had decided to join the fun. The room itself had no formal exit, instead it was another cave-in and more burrowed tunnels that led further into this vast maze. They had no need of Ffion and Alistair's senses to tell them that the Darkspawn were more prolific than ever here. The packed dirt floor was slick with their grime and the fleshy pods were nestled along nearly every inch of wall space. The air was heavy and hot and, adding that vile smell emanating from the pods, Leliana and Morrigan weren't the only ones who felt claustrophobic.

It was Zevran who heard the voice first. He was walking beside Oghren, following directly behind the Wardens and Tilly, and he reached out to grab Ffion's elbow.

"Hold," He said quietly and cocked his head when she glanced back at him, "Do you hear... singing, or chanting?"

They fell completely silent and it was only then that they could make out the female voice that he was hearing. Whoever it was was murmuring what did indeed sound like a chant and, with a wave to keep them all quiet, Ffion was starting forward once more, Alistair stepping in unison with her. They finally rounded the last corner, emerging from the dirt tunnels onto the stone floor, and the chanting was a little louder now. But only enough to make out a random word or two. The room was like the others, long and narrow with a wide doorway that led to another, slightly larger room. There the Darkspawn filth was even worse. The fleshy sacks were everywhere and the stone slabs of the floor were hardly visible underneath the blood colored slime that covered them. Directly ahead was a crouched figure whose small size belied the fact that she was a Dwarf. They could hear the chant clearly now and it was obvious that she had started over from the beginning. Her voice was still quiet, but there was a beautiful cadence to it which hid the atrocities of the verse until they started paying attention to what it said.

"First day, they come and catch everyone; Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat; Third day, the men are all gnawed on again; Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate; Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn; Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams; Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew; Eighth day, we hate it as she is violated; Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin; Now she does feast, as she's become the beast. Now you lay and wait, for their screams will haunt you in your dreams."

Ffion blinked, speechless for a moment. She glanced sidelong at Oghren who had moved up to stand beside Tilly, but he seemed just as shocked as the rest of them. The Warden started forward, ignoring Leliana when the Orlesian hissed her name in protest.

"Serah?" She asked cautiously, walking slowly across the floor, well aware of how treacherous the slime had made it, "Serah, you're not alone anymore. Is there anything I can do to-"

The Dwarven woman was standing, her blond head cocked a little to one side. She turned about with the same care that Ffion was taking, and her appearance cut the Warden's question short. She was not much older than Oghren but the exposure to the Darkspawn and who knew what other horrors had taken their toll. Her skin was almost translucent and there were sores on her forehead and neck that had taken on a greyish hue, almost matching the Darkspawns' skin. The big, once beautiful eyes were losing their pigmentation and the clothes she wore were filthy. It was impossible to tell what color they had once been and her hands trembled violently before she clasped them in front of her, cocking her head again rather awkwardly to look at Ffion. She had been a beautiful Dwarf in her time and the ravages of this life below the city were tragic to see.

"Nothing," She said in that whispering voice, "Not anymore. Nothing, nothing... it's all gone."

"What in the-"

Ffion waved violently for quiet, cutting short whatever it was that Morrigan was going to say.

"You were part of Branka's house," She wasn't asking and the Dwarf seemed to perk up at that name, "Is there anything else left of it?"

"Left?" The Dwarf repeated and her eyes cleared as she straightened herself, seeming to come to the present, which was painful to watch. One trembling, blood-stained hand knocked a few locks of the lank hair back and she went on in that soft murmur: hesitant and infinitely sad, "Nothing, nothing left... nothing but the Anvil. She let it consume her until that was all that remained... No, no, nothing left."

Her voice took on the sing-song quality and she was turning back to root through the pile of what looked horribly like left-over carcasses.

"Please," Ffion said, taking a few more steps towards her. Her heart was twisting with pity at this Dwarf's wretched plight and the tug of the taint was stronger as she got closer to her. She felt her heart drop and realized how completely hopeless this situation was. The Dwarf had the same poison coursing through her veins and for the first time, Ffion was forced to consider what being a Warden actually entailed, and how it would end. She spread her arms when the pale eyes landed on her and added inadequately, "We're only trying to help."

"Too late to help... She was gone before it even started," Once more there was that little clearing in her eyes that said she wasn't completely gone yet, "She began sacrificing us to them... Blessed Stone, the only thing that meant anything to her was that damn Anvil... "

"That chant, that's what happened here, isn't it?" Ffion was almost within reach of the Dwarf now and she stopped when she saw her coil like a spring, "That's what you were reciting?"

"It has to be recited... It was created so I won't forget... we mustn't forget what happened here," Her eyes were unfocused and she stared into space above Ffion's shoulder. Her words came even more hesitantly, the phrases fractured as though she was reading every other sentence in a book, "We tried to escape... They caught us... They show the men mercy, they kill them. It's the women they want... touching, violating, morphing... They need women... Laryn was first... tearing off her husband's face and drinking his blood... watching while she grew, became like them... Broodmother... No, no, nothing left... Nothing left... just the Anvil..."

Ffion barely found her voice in time to stop the Dwarf from fleeing the room. She was dumbstruck and didn't register Leliana's soft exclamation and Wynne's horrified gasp. The Dwarf was pressing her shaking hands over her face, pulling at her hair as those scenes flashed back to her.

"Please, serah," Ffion's voice was just as strained as the Dwarf's, "Is Branka-"

"No," The Dwarf's whisper was harsh and she dropped her hands, locking eyes with Ffion, more clear than they'd ever been, "I was her captain and I didn't stop her... Her lover, and I could not turn her... Forgive her... No! She can't be forgiven... Not for what she's done... Not for what she's become... No!"

This time, the Dwarf couldn't be held up. She bolted from the room and Ffion shook off the effects of those revelations and was on her heels.

"No, wait!" She called.

The Dwarf was disappearing around the corner, into the next room. The others were right behind their leader when she suddenly cursed, back-peddling into Sten's chest. Two ogres were looming in front of another set of huge doors and the Dwarf darted between them, scaling the wall, and slipping into the shadows above them. Not that it mattered, the ogres were not to be ignored. Luckily for the companions, they weren't very smart. They both lowered themselves to charge and collided into one another. Half of the companions went against one while the other half was busy with the second, and soon there were two dead ogres.

Ffion's attention was transferred to the double doors, and she examined the lock while the others gathered around.

"Nothin' kicks ya in the teeth more'n findin' out yer wife was into ladies. Stone bless her."

Oghren was clearly talking just to break the tension radiating from the Wardens and Ffion was too distracted to pay attention. Her grey eyes were still on the door and she patted down her belt pouches before glancing back at Zevran. The Elf had been looking steadily at her and she didn't think anything of it.

"All I have are hairpins," She said shortly, feeling even more anxious. That Dwarf was their only hope in finding out any further information on Branka and she didn't want to lose her, "Do you have any lock-picks?"

"Ffion, 'tis quite clear that that Dwarf is too addled to tell us much more," Morrigan was speaking almost gently, for her, though the Warden was sure that she and Alistair were the only ones to pick up on it, "Do you-"

"I have to try," Ffion interrupted and moved aside to let Zevran try his luck with the door. Her adrenaline was such that she almost started pacing as she waited, but the lock was old and the Elf's fingers were incredibly dexterous, "We have to do something."

The lock gave a click and the doors, released from that sole position for the first time in decades, popped out towards the party.

"Sten," Ffion grabbed one door and threw her weight back as the Qunari stepped forward and helped.

Oghren was next to move in, slipping his battleaxe between the doors and levering one of them open. There weren't any Darkspawn in the shadowed hall they entered and the Dwarf had disappeared completely as well. They moved reluctantly after Ffion who wasn't about to be talked out of any of this.

"Ffion, there's something-"

"I know," She interrupted Alistair in a quiet murmur, focusing on the taint for a moment, and then glancing up at him, "But I don't think it's just the Dwarf. This feels... different."

They had left the stone hall for the dirt tunnels for the thousandth time and Alistair was nodding his head. As if on cue, confirming Ffion's thought before Alistair could, there was an echoing groan from the depths of this new path. Everyone stopped short, not sure what this would mean.

"Ffion," Leliana's whispering voice faded away as soon as it started and she was at a loss for words.

"We don't have a choice," The Warden replied and had to force herself to take the next step.

Tilly hampered her legs, Alistair moved stiffly beside her, and she could practically feel Zevran's breath on her neck. The others pressed in around her as well and there was another groan as they rounded the last corner and froze in their tracks. The ground here was slick and treacherous, the smell was more vile and air thickest yet; there was a path that led further into the cavern but between them and it was...

"Maker's balls," Ffion breathed and it was more like a gasp.

Behind her, Sten and Leliana were cursing swiftly in their own tongues. Zevran hadn't uttered a word though his blades were in his palms with a swift metallic sound; Morrigan had the air around them crackling with power. Oghren's hands tightened on his axe and he was pushing up to stand next to Alistair, while Tilly whined softly and Wynne surrounded them with a shield of energy.

The creature... Broodmother, was settled at the base of a huge stalagmite that was the only thing preventing it from tumbling into a massive chasm that gaped behind it. The creature itself was a disgusting, hulking thing that towered well above Sten and its numerous tentacles sliced through the air menacingly, pushing up from the ground in a mockery of living vines. The head was bald, the skin greyish white, and the many chins hid any neck, instead morphing into rows of breasts. Two pudgy arms waved like a child's and when its sunken, beady eyes landed on them, it let out a loud, piercing shriek.

Leliana was the first to react. Her bow was in her hands and the arrow sailed through the tentacles, lodging in the Broodmother's chest. It let out another yell and that seemed to shake the rest of the party from their lethargy. Sten, Oghren, and Alistair all started forward, their weapons lopping off any of the tentacles that threatened to grab at them, and trying to cause whatever damage they could to this monster. Ffion and Zevran had to hold their own with an enemy they couldn't backstab, while Morrigan, Wynne and Leliana did their best to incapacitate the Broodmother.

There seemed to be no way to actually reach the creature itself and the fight was soon made more impossible as half a dozen Genlocks suddenly popped up around them. Alistair was breaking away from the Broodmother and starting towards the Darkspawn before Ffion waved him back.

"No!" She shouted, "Take her out! We'll take care of this!"

She and Tilly bolted for the first group of Genlocks and Wynne eased on the Broodmother to help. The little monsters were not prepared for something so fierce and went down easily. The Broodmother screeched as its 'children' were disposed of, and it rocked back, giving Oghren a chance. The battleaxe gleamed in the poor light as he landed a severe blow, making the screech become more one of pain than fury. Sten got in another blow and then one of the tentacles whipped around, knocking them back and leaving Alistair scrambling when he was suddenly on his own. Zevran was a mere shadow as he sprang forward and sliced the tentacle winding around Alistair's legs in half. The ex-Templar didn't even have time to thank him before they were both tossed back into the thick of things.

Ffion, Wynne, and Tilly were busy again with more Darkspawn that had been summoned, and then Morrigan was shouting at the men to move. The air was thick with the smell and charge of a lightning storm and, in a blink, the witch released her power. Bolts of energy snaked down into the tentacles and the monster, and it rocked back for the second time. Ffion took her own chance. Ignoring the frantic shouts of her name, the Warden darted in between the bolts of lightning and the tentacles, not feeling either one when they landed lucky blows. Tilly was barking fiercely and Leliana's arrows were buzzing just past her as she took a few long steps and leaped at the Broodmother. Her leather boots found a foothold in the rows of disgusting breasts and the only thing she could think of as one of her blades sank home in the creature's neck was: _Maker, let someone show me as much pity!_

The Broodmother let out another shriek and its arms went up to grab at Ffion as the Warden slammed her other blade home. In its death throes Ffion was knocked clear, landing on her back at Sten's feet. The Qunari sidestepped quickly, taking out the third wave of Darkspawn that sprang from the ground. Ffion remained where she was, fighting to catch her breath, and listening to the Broodmother die. Rapid footsteps came her way and Zevran's voice was concerned and more than a little frightened,

"Ffion? My little dove, you-"

"I – I'm fine," She interrupted, slowly sitting up, and wincing as she did so. Her grey eyes went around the cavern and landed on the still twitching Broodmother. It dawned on her that, as a Grey Warden, a _woman_ Warden, this was her fate, and her first thought was: "Shit."

She put her face in her hands, trying to get a hold of herself and then heard that familiar whispering, almost singsong voice.

"That's why they need us... that's why they hate us... that's why they take us," The Dwarf was perched on the stalagmite that was behind the Broodmother and surveying them all with a lost expression on her face, "This is where they come from... Branka used the... children to serve her own needs... sacrificing her House for that damn Anvil... No!" She was on the verge of running and then with a sudden clarity, she finished her thought, the lost look morphing into determination, "Abominations, monsters, horrors no one can fathom... but the true abomination was not that it happened... it is that it was allowed... My love... Branka... I am dying of a disease worse than death itself... Betrayal... Farewell, my dream friend."

And with that, she turned and stepped off the stalagmite, into the black abyss.

"No!" Ffion was jumping to her feet, "Please!"

It was too late, the Dwarf was gone. The Warden slumped, her strength disappearing in a simple breath. She could feel Zevran's eyes on her and Morrigan was turning about as well, her brows arching. Ffion put up a hand and shook her head.

"Don't," She said quietly and heard the rough emotion in her voice, "Please, Morrigan, just... don't."

Alistair was also looking at her with some trepidation, and the exhaustion and grief of the past few hours was eaten away by a sudden rush of anger. This was _known_! All the Wardens knew what happened to their sisters in the Order and though that little inner voice, the one sounding like her mother, told her this was not Alistair's fault, it was something that Duncan failed to tell her; the other voice, (her own), was adamant about finding a vent. And here was Alistair, who was looking at her with so much pity she was damn sure he couldn't plead innocence in this.

"That'll be me, won't it?" She was just barely asking and she motioned to the Broodmother with a dismissive wave, "30 years, right? And that's me. Thanks for sharing."

"Listen, Ffion, it's not so-"

"Don't you dare!" She exclaimed. The last words she wanted to hear from him was that 'it wasn't as bad as she thought.' And definitely not when he didn't have any clue himself, "It's a damn lie and you know it!"

"All right so I knew!" Alistair was getting angry in his turn and neither one of them gave their audience a second thought, "What the hell was I supposed to do, Ffion? Pull you aside in the midst of all this chaos and say, 'Oh, by the way, you know those 30 years? At the end you girls get to spend the rest of your lives producing more of these bastards!'"

"That's a great start!" She was shouting now, yanking her arm from Zevran's restraining hand, "It's sure as hell better than springing it on me while we're down here. Honestly, Alistair, if you want to kill me why don't you just take that-"

"Oh, shut up and quit playing the martyr! So you had to find out the hard way, welcome to the world!" Alistair's honey colored eyes were snapping with a fire that no one had ever seen and his biting words brought an uneasy silence.

Ffion blinked, her grey eyes flickering with hurt, and her lips parted but nothing came. She glanced at the Broodmother again and the shortswords still jammed in its throat and once more, her strength disappeared. The weight of all she had seen and learned crashed down on her and she shook her head, not looking at any of them.

The ex-Templar instantly felt guilty. He hated the thought that he had just hurt _Ffion,_ of all people, the one member of their party that had never intentionally hurt him, the one that had given him back his mother's medallion without a thought of any repayment. Not to mention a girl he had come to care a whole hell of a lot for. Taking a breath and grimacing when he realized all of the others were eating this up, he reached halfheartedly for Ffion's elbow.

"Look, Ffion, I-"

"Don't bother," She snapped and then brushed by him, moving to skirt the Broodmother and head for the little ledge that ran around the stalagmite; the same that the Dwarf must have used, and no one could blame Zevran for grabbing at her arm again, "Leave it, I'm not going to do anything stupid. I just... I... I need to be alone. Just for a minute... I... Please, Zev?"

The Elf hesitated a moment longer and then gave her a single nod, letting her go. Oghren cleared his throat self-consciously, hating the position he found himself in.

"We'll make camp in th' next tunnel, Ffion," He offered, "Ya'll 'ave all the time ya need."

Ffion would have been fine if the Dwarf hadn't been so kind. She nodded her head without looking at him, and came the closest to breaking down as she ever had since that nightmare in Highever... Tears welled in her eyes and she tried vainly to keep her voice steady.

"That's..." The word trembled out and she tried again, "That's fine, thanks."

The party reluctantly moved further down the tunnel, away from the dead Broodmother, giving Ffion the privacy she so desperately needed.


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N:** Next installment, enjoy!

* * *

She edged her way along the ledge, which was just wide enough to walk comfortably, and reached the spot where the Dwarf had jumped. Brushing those loose tears from her eyes and wishing she hadn't let her emotions get the better of her, she dropped to the ground. Her back was pressed against the stalagmite and she drew her knees up, propping her elbows on them, and burrowing her chin into her folded arms. She knew that she wasn't being fair with Alistair, but he hadn't been entirely fair with her. The image of his troubled honey colored eyes flashed before her, and she closed her own eyes, pressing her face into her forearm.

She shouldn't have argued with him, shouldn't have called him out in front of everyone, but with emotions running so high, it was downright impossible. The Dwarf's plight pulled at her in the same way that her family's destruction had and it was horrible reliving that in this hell. Something about the adoration that the Dwarf had obviously felt for Branka and her house was a sharp reminder of Fergus and Oriana, and it only deepened her pain.

Ffion sat there on that ledge, chin digging into her forearm, and staring into the darkness of that chasm for about an hour before she heard the footsteps. Her hands instantly dropped to her belt, but a quick check of the Darkspawn taint revealed nothing, and a moment later, she knew why. Leliana was dimpling gently at her, both of her newly cleaned shortswords clasped in one small hand, which she held out as she approached.

"Is it all right to sit?" The Orlesian asked when Ffion took her swords.

Ffion shrugged, waving her free hand as the swords were nestled next to her where they belonged.

"If I said no would you listen?" She replied with a wry humor in her voice. She hated that she could hear those few shed tears, and then decided that Leliana would be the only one she wouldn't mind knowing she'd been crying.

The Orlesian shrugged her own shoulders and plopped down beside her.

"Obviously no," She cocked her head at the Warden and added with especial care, "Alistair is worried about you, dear, he wanted me to-"

"No," Ffion interrupted sharply, straightening against the stalagmite, and realizing for the first time that her back was stiff with pain, "If he wants to apologize, he knows where I am."

"And would you listen?" Leliana was calm and cool, the voice of reason, and Ffion was irritated by it.

"He was being an ass," Her voice was sharp again and she didn't think anything of it, "Listen, Leliana, I stayed behind to avoid thinking about this and I don't want to be reminded now. We still have Maker knows how long before we reach the smithy, if it exists, and then about a week back to Orzammar. Alistair and I will have plenty of time to hammer out the details and settle the disagreements before we get back. Don't think you can push me into anything."

The Orlesian snorted, amused but trying to hide it.

"Like anyone could," She muttered and nudged her with an elbow, "Zevran does not like this, my dear. He is worried you will wrinkle that pretty face of yours with worry. And besides, if you and Alistair lose one another, what will you do then?"

Ffion couldn't help but mutter under her breath as she glanced sidelong at the little Orlesian. Her grey eyes began dancing.

"This is all one big conspiracy," She said and started to her feet, "You all are just trying to annoy me to death so I don't have to worry about becoming one of those monsters. Which won't... He should have told me, Leliana, you can't argue with that."

Leliana was looking down at her long fingers and then she brushed her short copper hair back with one hand. Her pale blue eyes went back to Ffion and she spoke before the Warden could stand and make her escape.

"He cares about you, love, as we all do," Her accented voice was as smooth as always and the endearment made Ffion's cheeks color, "You cannot blame him for being concerned and wanting to avoid any... unpleasant conversation, no?"

Ffion ignored the implication there and stood to her full, admittedly not very impressive height. She was blushing furiously now, wishing that the ex-Templar's overt care for her was not so... well, overt. Her gaze met Leliana's again and she lifted her shoulders a little.

"Should that include what will happen to a sister Warden at the end of her life?" Her voice was understandably bitter.

"He... Ffion, he... he is not going to let that happen," Leliana recalled the passion in Alistair's voice as he promised this and she missed that feeling of being so protected and adored, "He told... He said, if given the chance, he'd do anything to help you… avoid it. Anything to prevent this from happening to you."

The Warden wondered if she would ever turn back to her proper color. She stepped over the Orlesian's legs and headed back down the ledge, tossing over her shoulder,

"He should have told me that himself, Leliana, instead of letting me find out from someone else. Don't cover for him anymore, please, it does nothing for him."

At the bottom of the little path, Tilly was perched on her haunches, waiting patiently for her lady. Ffion touched her head was a twinge of guilt.

"Come on, girl," She said softly, "Let's find you something to eat."

Leliana fell in beside them and they went to the camp in a companionable silence. Sten was the only one still awake and he was sitting in front of a small fire, sharpening the huge broadsword calmly. Oghren had found a perfect place for their tents. It was in an offshoot of the main tunnel, forming a small cove with a ceiling whose height prevented them from getting smoked out. The tents were all pitched, save Oghren and Sten's, but the Dwarf didn't use one anyway and was already snoring gently, oblivious to the girls' return, while Sten was clearly on watch. Ffion saw that, once more, Alistair's tent was next to hers and she felt her face tighten a little. But Leliana was looking at her steadily and Zevran's flamboyantly red tent was on the other side of hers, and so she shrugged it off. She gave Sten a small smile and nod as she reached the fire and took up a few scraps of ham and a crust of bread. Tossing the ham to Tilly and taking a few absentminded bites of the hearty bread, she felt her exhaustion taking hold and she met the Qunari's violet eyes.

"I'll take the secon-"

"No," His deep voice was as calm as ever, even as Leliana made a protesting noise, and his hands didn't miss a beat in their work, "Sleep, Ffion, we have the watches figured out already. The Dwarf thinks it would be wise to move on as soon as we can in the... well, the morning, so the mage will wake you when it's time."

Ffion blinked at him, giving Leliana a quick glance, and then lifting her shoulders. She was getting too used to being the one in charge, if that initial reaction to this change was any judge. But in all honestly, she liked this much more. Her body was screaming at her to get some sleep and here was the opportunity.

"Sounds good to me," She replied, "Thank you, Sten, and you too, Leliana."

She turned to duck into her tent with Tilly on her heels and Sten's deep voice stopped her.

"You did nothing wrong, Ffion," He was saying and the whetstone paused in its track up the blade, "I am not... comfortable with the humans' show of emotion, but with what you have been through... I have to commend you again. Anyone else would be broken by now."

The Warden's mouth tipped and she couldn't help but poke fun at the Qunari, which maybe was a good thing. At least she still had something of a sense of humor.

"The day's not over yet, Sten. I was just about to go and cry myself to sleep, so you may want to put a hold on that thought."

As the canvas tent fell over her line of vision, she could have sworn that she got the Qunari to actually smile. And that helped to make up for some of the day's events.

* * *

It was a very subdued party that left the campsite in what they could only assume was morning. There was a stony silence between Alistair and Ffion, and both Zevran and Oghren made it a point to be more irreverent and offbeat than usual. Though it fell rather flat after what had been experienced the day before. Ffion's grey eyes were deeply shadowed and it was clear she hadn't slept much, but after a very sharp response to Wynne's concern, and for one of very few times having Morrigan on her side, no one pushed her. The witch was tired of traversing the caverns and she felt drawn to Ffion after seeing what her future held. The hopelessness of it all made her want to take up that banner and she wasn't exactly sure what it was about this one that fueled her. She had always had more respect for Ffion than Alistair, obviously, and to help her here felt somehow... right.

So it was Morrigan and Ffion against the rest of them, with Tilly, naturally, and the witch's power mixed with the Warden's determination created a team that none of the others wanted to oppose. Morrigan was dangerous and Ffion would have to be knocked out or sedated and then physically tied to a bed before she conceded to any more rest. And Tilly would never allow that.

Luckily for all involved, the tiptoeing around on eggshells didn't last long. They had left the stone halls and roads completely now, but Oghren was still finding Branka's odd little marks in the walls which told them they were still on the right track. And it all paid off. They entered another huge cavern with a ceiling that soared several storeys high. There were traces of the Darkspawn here and they moved cautiously as they ventured further. Suddenly, there was a slide of metal on metal followed by an ominous crashing of dirt and rock and Sten called the warning.

"Get down!" The Qunari shoved Morrigan and Leliana out of the way of the slide and then dove to the ground himself.

Several metal sheets crashed down over the opening of the tunnel and dust enveloped the party. For once, Ffion wasn't leading the way and while Tilly was well clear of the slide, the Warden would have been crushed. Had Alistair not acted, that is. He darted back, grabbing her around the waist, and yanking her away. She stumbled into him and they went crashing to the packed earth. They rolled clear, the ex-Templar's weight pinning Ffion to the ground, coughing and blinking in the heavy dust.

"Are you... okay?" Alistair questioned around the coughs.

"Fine," Ffion replied and pushed at his shoulders, "Can I get up please?"

"Not good, my Warden," Zevran's voice was grim as Alistair helped Ffion to her feet. The Elf was studying the slide, "Let us hope there is another way out or Harrowmont will never gain ground."

"So that dusty old bastard finally kicked the bucket, huh? And since you're down here for Harrowmont, those idiotic Deshyrs can't make up their minds," This new voice came from further in and up above them, "You're being duped, but since you're here, you can be of use."

They all rounded, weapons at the ready, to see a female Dwarf standing on a small rise, studying them with disdain in her grey eyes. Her dark red hair was pulled into two knots on either side of her small intense face, and she was dressed in leather armor that had been worn hard and repaired with care.

"Branka?" Oghren's voice was thrilled and more than a little disbelieving, as though he himself hadn't truly thought they'd find her, "Well, shave me back an' call me an Elf! Didn' think I'd see ya again."

"An Elf, hmm?" Zevran repeated quietly, his voice amused as he slid his blades back, "Interesting thought."

"Oghren, it figures that you would drag someone into following you down here," Branka cast her arrogant glance around them again, "And this is the ignorant sod? Another one of your lost causes then?"

"Watch yer mouth, woman!" Oghren was instant in Ffion's defense, "These're Wardens, tryin' to 'elp!"

Ffion was still studying Branka, remembering the other Dwarf's words, and she felt her distaste for this situation spike sharply. Alistair was no longer her outlet, she'd found a new one, and she was shifting her weight forward. She pulled herself up to her full height and drew what remained of her nobility around her like a shroud.

"Yes, the dusty bastard's dead," She repeated and heard the irritation and exhaustion in her words, "And you seem to know exactly why we're here, so I won't bother going into more detail."

"Irrelevant," Branka replied with a dismissive wave, "You could put a drunken monkey on the throne and you would get the same results. All that matters is the Anvil and I'm so close to it! If it wasn't for the traps that are guarding it, I'd have been back ages ago. I'm too close to give up now!"

Morrigan wasn't impressed; none of them were, but the witch was quickest to respond. Her brows went up and she folded her slender arms over her chest.

"Have you not sacrificed enough? Surely it cannot be that crucial."

Branka looked shocked, but didn't bother to waste much time on the witch, who clearly was not going to be convinced. She instead transferred her attention back to Ffion and Oghren. Her gaze went over Ffion and dismissed her as she looked at her former husband.

"Look around you, Oghren," She said passionately, "Is this what our great kingdom should look like? A breeding ground for these slimy bastards; crumbling and putrefying before our very eyes? But the Anvil! Everything will change if that's returned to us! No one could oppose the Dwarves, we could eradicate these vermin once and for all, and go back to the glory days of the old kingdoms!" Her eyes were blazing, but it wasn't just passion. Something was unhinged there, and they were able to see the Dwarf that had sacrificed her House to further her own means. The calm that settled over her quite suddenly was even more chilling and Ffion could feel the unease radiate from the rest of the party as Branka's eyes met hers. The Dwarf's fists clenched as she added, "A favor for a favor: I will name your king when I can place my hand on that Anvil. It is through a gauntlet of sorts; I know it has to be close! Haveck was last one I had to put through, the last one to fail me... He returned with just enough life left to tell me that there was only one other room to master. The fool! He could have made it!"

"Maker curse him for being mortal and failing his commander's fool notions?" Wynne was almost as cold as Morrigan and her blue eyes were ice.

"Warden!" Branka seemed not to hear the Enchanter and she rounded on Ffion so suddenly that, even with the distance separating them, Alistair and Zevran still stepped forward to block whatever blow might come. Tilly growled softly, her hackles rising as the Dwarf went on, "Do we have a deal?"

Ffion was ready to scream if anyone asked her that question again. Cullen wanting a deal, Uldred promising the same thing, Harrowmont and _his_ deal... She shook her head a little, feeling everyone's eyes on her.

"I'll take a look," She replied, "I won't promise anything, not when you don't even know for sure what's beyond this room. If we come running back, screaming for our lives, you know we've failed, and if not... Well, then it'll be up to you."

Branka was on the verge of arguing and then stopped. Ffion was clearly less likely to be talked in to any of this then the Dwarf was to be talked out of it.

"Very well, I suppose that's more than I should have hoped to get," She said, inclining her head.

"That's all you will be getting," Sten's muttering was quite audible.

The Dwarf drew herself up and eyed them coldly in turn.

"I _am_ your Paragon. And you will get your king," She said regally and then jerked her head behind her, "The door is through there. Don't disappoint me."

"'Tis being quite presum-"

"Please, let's just... get this over with," Ffion interrupted Morrigan's annoyed voice.

Oghren seemed subdued as they skirted Branka's perch and headed towards the opening she had indicated. Not that anyone blamed him. Learning that his wife was more inclined to women than men and was clearly going mad in this futile search was a lot to take in all at once. They could hear her muttering to herself as they went and, if she hadn't told them that Haveck was the last Dwarf that had been sacrificed, they would have thought she wasn't alone.

"Of course they had to be used!" She was saying sharply as though she was continuing an argument that they had interrupted, "How else was I supposed to gain the Anvil? They refused to understand that their sacrifice was for the good of the House, for the good of our kingdom! The damn fools would have done the same to me! Betrayal... deceiving bastards..."

Her voice was lost as they crossed the cavernous room and saw the door ahead. Alistair cast a quick glance over his shoulder and then muttered,

"Nice to know we aren't working for a psycho or anything."

Ffion couldn't help but let out a snort of laughter. She had been thinking the same thing and it was nice to hear it put so bluntly. Even Oghren spared a smile and he shrugged his shoulders, pulling his axe free as they reached the door.

"The on'y thin' that I wanted was ter see her naked," He replied, keeping that rather vulgar sense of humor alive and well, "An' bein' crazy is a good thin' in bed, righ'? I mean-"

"Okay, that's enough," Alistair interrupted, his cheeks turning pink, "You don't have to go into detail."

Oghren cocked his head at the ex-Templar as Zevran grinned, Leliana giggled, and Morrigan smirked. Ffion was stepping forward to open up the door with Sten and Tilly beside her while Wynne watched the scene with an amused smile.

"Yer not still a-"

The door wasn't locked and Ffion pulled it open, successfully silencing Oghren's next words and sparing Alistair added embarrassment. They crowded into the entry of the room that was revealed and stopped, surveying what was actually visible. There were a few steps that led down to a sunken floor and over this whole area was a thick greenish-yellow gas that rose to the ceiling and stank of sulfur. There were two little pinpricks of light that were just visible through it and, as Ffion took a hesitant step forward, there was a thudding sound and a familiar grinding of stone on stone.

"Down!" She shouted, grabbing Tilly's collar as she dove to one side.

Morrigan and Oghren were beside her, Sten shielding them with his big body. The stone that was hurled at them crashed against the doorway, showering them with smaller stones. Ffion was pushing at the Qunari, letting go of Tilly, and trying to pull her blades loose all at once. Morrigan reacted just as quickly and they could see their breath in the air as she froze the two Golems that loomed from the sulfuric gas. Sten and Oghren both leaped towards one and their joint efforts shattered the creature completely. From the opposite side of the doorway, Wynne conjured a string of small boulders that collided with the second Golem and disposed of it.

"Is everyone all right?" Ffion asked, coughing as the disturbance caused the gas to creep closer.

"All right," Alistair answered, "But what are we supposed to do now?"

Leliana was squinting into the gas, holding one hand over her mouth, and getting as close to it as she could.

"There must be valves," She said through her fingers, "The gas does not seem nearly as thick on the other side. Poor Haveck must have been lucky enough to find one."

Ffion, moving to stand with her, gave a shrug of her shoulders. She slid her swords back and took out the handkerchief that Zevran had given her.

"Only one way to find out," She replied, shaking it out, and then folding it in half so she could hold it easily against her mouth.

"Are you quite serious?" Morrigan's voice was disbelieving and she was second guessing her prior support of the Warden, "Who is to say 'tis safe?"

Ffion wasn't about to be budged. Her grey eyes were hard but she gave them all a smile as she slipped away.

"At least if I die here I won't end up producing more Darkspawn, right?"

She moved swiftly through the gas, coughing in the smoke. Following the walls as best she could, she found a small alcove that was halfway across the room and almost tripped over the valve that protruded about ten inches off the floor. She closed it quickly and froze for a moment when there was the grinding sound of another Golem. It was only when the monster moved that she saw where it had been immobile in the shadows. Quickly ducking away from the hurled boulder, she dropped the handkerchief and bolted for the other side of the room where there had to be another valve.

"Morrigan, Sten!" She hollered, forgetting about the gas in her haste, "Here comes another one!"

There was a second Golem that joined the first as she closed off the final valve, but without the gas, it was a much easier fight. Wynne and Morrigan both used the strings of boulders and blasts of ice, which seemed the most effective against the monsters; and as soon as the Golems were gone, the door at the other end of the room popped open.

"Wonderful," Zevran observed as they headed that way, "If the only way to open the doors is to beat each... obstacle, then there would be no way for Haveck to know how many rooms there were, yes?"

"Well, we did decide she's crazy, right?" Alistair was looking at Oghren with his crooked grin, "Besides with all of us, it shouldn't be too hard."

"Optimistic to the last," Sten was stooping and picking up the handkerchief that had slipped from Ffion's fingers, "A foolish trait. Did you wish to keep this?"

"Thanks," The young Warden tucked it away absentmindedly, ignoring Zevran's almost conspiratorial smirk, "Let's see what's next. Alistair has a good point; just be ready, Wynne, you too, Morrigan."


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N: **Not too terribly late this time. And a footnote for those of you who are very true to the game: I couldn't remember what the inscription of the Golem registry actually said, (none of my current saved games are even remotely close to that part), so if you want to correct me, it'd be welcome. All the best, catalinaD

* * *

The words were unnecessary. Neither the witch nor the Enchanter had put away her staff, and the others pulled out their respective weapons as they entered the next room. It was another long, narrow hall, but instead of just one alcove on either side there were four. And each had a Golem standing at attention inside them. For a second the companions remained frozen where they were but when the monsters didn't move, they pressed on. The first two Golems didn't budge and, as Zevran crouched down to harmlessly spring the traps that were just before the second pair, they sprang to life. Morrigan was ready, however, and she froze them before they even got the chance to hurl their boulders. Sten, Alistair, and Oghren were just as quick as the witch and Zevran hardly finished with the traps when the last Golem dropped. His amber eyes were amused.

"Very good," He said and carefully walked by the next pair of Golems before crouching to repeat his tactics, his gaze on the last set, "We may be able to work with one another yet."

Ffion felt the sting of those words, knowing that he meant to reference herself and Alistair, and was almost happy when the Golems again came awake. She didn't want to think about that day, not now; not when it was so important to keep a clear head in all of this. Once more, the Golems didn't really stand a chance against all of them and this door opened automatically, too.

For this next obstacle, they were standing on a dirt track in a huge cavern. There were piles of rocks on either side and straight ahead was one of the most bizarre things they had seen yet. It was a massive carved stone that was suspended from the ceiling over a raised platform. There were four faces with gaping mouths, sharp noses, and hollow eyes; in front of where each one glared was an anvil. A bluish light emanated from the chasm beyond another mound of boulders and it encompassed everything, making for an eerie setting. And when the party edged closer, things only got worse.

The grinding of stone on stone made them turn about, looking in vain for any Golems, but the threat came from the stone faces. The eyes were no longer hollow, instead they glowed and sparked with lightning, and in the same instant the anvils illuminated with that blue light. Dwarven specters were standing guard over them and when they saw Ffion's party, their mouths moved with long silent war cries. At a loss of how they were supposed to defeat this new foe, they focused on taking out the specters. It was Tilly that revealed the secret. The Mabari was fighting alongside Sten, close to Ffion, and she ducked clear when Wynne shot a bolt of energy at the Dwarf ghost. She knocked into the anvil that was closest to her and made it rock slightly. The Qunari spotted how the light in the face above him faded and he instantly jumped forward, slamming his weight into the anvil. This time, one edge of it rocked off its base completely and the power that surrounded it shot at the face in a tangible bolt.

"The anvils!" He shouted, throwing himself at the next one, "It's the anvils! Cut their power!"

The others followed his direction and soon the three remaining faces lost whatever connection they had with their power. Ffion glanced at the door partially hidden in the shadows off to their left, but it remained closed tight. As if on cue, the grinding noise started again and the faces were turning about on their base. When they came to a stop, a burst of energy pushed the party forcibly off the platform, Leliana and Wynne falling to the dirt path. They sprang to their feet again and Wynne wasn't quick enough to block the blood-red bolts that shot towards the rest of the companions from the eye-sockets. But they didn't allow it to slow them.

The Dwarven specters were taken out and they repeated their work on the anvils. The faces spun for a third time and these specters were a little harder to get rid of. Once more, Alistair's point was proved correct: having the whole party was detrimental to their success. When the connection with the last anvil was broken, there was a high pitched screech of the stone sliding against stone; almost like the faces were screaming. And then they slumped on their base, the eyes once more becoming dark empty holes.

The door opened and an orange light emanated from the room. Ffion sank down onto one of the anvils with a sigh, rubbing Tilly's ears as the others frowned at her. Wynne and Leliana both stepped forward in unison, the Enchanter speaking first.

"Ffion? Are you alright? Those bolts didn't-"

"No, no, I'm just... I'm okay," She reluctantly heaved herself to her feet, using Tilly as a crutch, "Let's go on, and Maker's balls, I hope this is it."

That last was added to herself and she didn't wait for their response, moving on with her hound trotting loyally beside her. She froze as soon as she had taken a few steps into the room. It was the biggest cavern they had come across yet. There was a broad, flat area with scattered piles of what looked like pure lyrium. Massive stalagmites were bordering the biggest lava river they had come across in the Roads and there was a wide formation that had taken on the appearance of a ramp. At the top of this was something that glittered with the same bluish light as the lyrium, but between them and what had to be the Anvil Branka was so obsessed with, was a group of nine Golems. Four lined each side of the path that the party would have to take and the ninth was bigger and broader than the others with vein-like lines of lyrium running through its body. Its head was not stone like the rest, but seemed to be a helm of sorts, and this one actually spoke.

"Come freely," Its voice was deep and echoing, with an underlying melancholy that oddly made it seem more real, "I do not wish to fight you. Indeed, congratulations are in order, and I believe that you know only what that Dwarf has told you. You must hear the other side of this tragic tale."

Ffion eyed the Golem a moment longer and slowly relaxed, keeping her blades in her hands, but easing from her fighters' stance. She waved the point of one of the swords.

"By all means," She replied, "We've come to the conclusion that Branka's a little touched anyway, so go ahead. What the hell, right?"

If the Golem could have cocked its head, it would have.

"I shall never understand mortals," Its deep voice commented and then went on, "If you have not guessed, I am Caridin, the first Golem and the orchestrator of all of this... madness. In the beginning we were merely trying to protect our city. You see, I am... was a Dwarf. I created the Anvil during the First Blight; we were desperate for anything that would push the Darkspawn horde back. It was agreed that we would use only volunteers, any citizen that was willing to make the sacrifice for their city and her people. The Anvil creates the Golems, yes, but not without taking life," Caridin gave what was obviously a sigh, "I protested when I learned that the king Valtor was pulling in casteless, criminals, and his political enemies to turn, and I was doomed to it myself. Nothing could stand in the way of his ambition to have an unbeatable army, not even when his people began to flee the city to avoid this fate. So I have turned this... shame into something honorable. My entire life I have devoted to protecting the Anvil and the horrible power it contains."

Ffion was frowning, forgetting her exhaustion in the face of this new hurdle. Though she couldn't see any eyes in Caridin's face, she could feel his gaze on her, and she cocked her own head.

"And I'll never understand immortals," She said and almost grinned at Zevran's snorted laughter, "Why didn't you just destroy the Anvil if it's so dangerous?"

"Alas, I cannot harm the Anvil," He replied, "I am only able to create."

"Taking the lives of Dwarves to create these Golems..." Wynne was quietly horrified, her voice saddened rather than judgemental, "That is the equivalent of blood magic and... It's wrong."

"But if you've created it, doesn't that mean you can destroy it?" Alistair was just as confused as his fellow Warden, "That makes sense, doesn't it?"

Zevran was sliding his swords home as he stepped up beside his Warden and her ex-Templar. His amber eyes were on Caridin as he added his own two bits.

"It does, to a degree, yes?" He observed, "But nothing we have done is easy, why should this be so?"

Caridin shifted on his stone feet, almost looking like he wanted to cross his arms over his chest. The Golems were shifting in the same instant and the party stiffened, but the monsters were only mimicking their creator.

"All I ask, stranger, is that you destroy the Anvil," He was speaking to Ffion, "It stands there, at the end of that rise, and all that you must do is-"

"No!" Branka's voice was frantic as she charged into the room, a slender wand-like object clasped in one hand, "You can't! The Anvil is mine and I won't let you ruin what I've come all this way to find! I've sacrificed too much to let you damn worms stand in my way! You said-"

"I said I'd take a look," Ffion's voice was firm and just short of a yell. Her grey eyes blazed with anger and she took a few steps back to stand closer to Caridin, "Sacrifice? Worms? Look who's talking, you selfish little... No, Branka, this is wrong. I don't care what the hell happens to your crazy dream – no, _nightmare_ – and if you want the Anvil, you'll have to go through me."

Oghren's expression was torn and he stepped into the gap that was between his wife and Ffion. His green eyes flickered back and forth, and he threw up his hands.

"Jus' let her 'ave the damn thing," He said, caught in the memories of the good days of his marriage, "Tha's the on'y reason she's so crazy. C'mon, Ffion-"

"No, I'm sorry, Oghren, but no," Ffion shook her head, tightening her hold on her blades, and feeling a little shiver of apprehension as spasms of anger flashed over Branka's face, "Caridin's right, Wynne's right, and I'm so damn tired that... No, the answer's no. That Anvil has to be destroyed."

Behind her, Caridin heaved another sigh, and Wynne, Alistair, and Leliana all beamed at her, but Branka... pissed didn't even begin to describe it. The Dwarf was seething, her face bright red with fury, and she glared at Ffion with so much heat, it was a wonder the Warden wasn't burned. She lifted up that odd, wand-like apparatus and called in a voice that was high with anger,

"I won't let that happen! Golems, to me! Destroy these deceivers!"

"A control rod!" Caridin was speaking more hesitantly, "I cannot go against her... Help, stranger... Please..."

Three of the eight Golems resisted the pull of the control rod and were starting forward against their kin as Branka dove at Ffion, and Oghren, torn for a moment longer, joined the Warden in her fight. Morrigan and Sten made quick work of one of the Golems and Alistair and Zevran were up against two more as Ffion and Oghren battled Branka with Tilly. Wynne switched between healing and defense and Leliana was doing her best to protect the mage. Caridin, true to his word, wasn't able to go against his own or Branka while she held that control rod and so remained motionless; at least providing a barricade for the ranged attacks.

Branka was a much more experienced rogue than Ffion and Oghren was hesitant to cause his former wife any considerable damage, so Sten's sudden presence was a huge relief. Tilly fell back with Ffion as she helped Wynne and Alistair take out the fourth Golem, and then rounded on Branka as Caridin's two remaining Golem allies went up against the last one. Branka didn't consider surrender and fell under Oghren's swing without even a split second of reconsideration. For once, their Dwarf was shaken. He let the axe slip from his fingers as he knelt beside his fallen wife and tenderly caressed her cheek, whispering too softly for them to hear.

Ffion, reminded sharply of her mother and father's last moments, turned to give Oghren privacy and was met with the sight of Caridin rolling his shoulders with a relieved sigh.

"You have my thanks, stranger," His voice was infinitely tired and he surveyed the damage done and the two remaining Golems before he added, "Useless waste. If only... but there is no benefit in wondering what might have been. Now, please, will you give us this final rest?"

Ffion, drawn to the hopelessness Caridin had suffered for all those decades, was gung-ho to finish this, but Leliana's words stopped her.

"We still need to have a king for Orzammar," She observed quietly, "And Harrowmont was quite adamant that it be Branka's voice. Impossible now, no?"

The Warden was quiet as she thought this over and remembered the way Branka had said so passionately: _I am your Paragon_. There was something about it that called to mind her childhood tutor Aldous. She could hear his rasping, patient voice and recalled his lessons on the Dwarves: … _And Caridin was named the very first of the Paragons..._

"A favor for a favor," She said softly and then glanced up at Caridin, "You were the first Paragon and it's a Paragon's voice that we need. I don't expect you to return with us and I won't be going back on my word, but could you give us something tangible? Something that will make up the Assembly's mind for them?"

"For you, of course," He didn't even pause to consider this and motioned her to follow, "I shall put the hammer to steel for a last time and create a crown for the king of your choice. With the ancient seal of my house, no one will oppose its bearer."

Caridin made his way to the Anvil and went to work. The cavern echoed with the sounds of his hammer striking the Anvil and Ffion forgot her exhaustion as she watched him. The others gathered at the bottom of the ramp-like path, leaving Oghren with Branka. The Dwarf had removed his breastplate and was using his axe to carve out a hole to lay his wife. Impossibly, he had found one corner in the cavern that was pure earth and was making good headway. Sten had lingered, wanting to help, knowing how important their timeline was, but Zevran had pressed his elbow with one hand and kept the Qunari moving.

"It will be best if he works alone," Zevran said under his breath, "Companionship is not what he needs now."

So they gathered and waited. Wynne's blue eyes were studying the room and she seemed unable to sit still. She wandered away from them, drawn by huge stone slabs that had been set upright near the lava river. A Golem was carved ingeniously behind this, one hand on each top of the stones to keep them from toppling over. The orange and red light that emanated from this cast the stone in a bright hue and the runes etched into its surface were shadowed, making it all the more impressive. The center stone was long and wider than the other two and between columns of what she knew were names was an engraving. Her rune-deciphering was a little rusty, but she struggled through it: _Dedicated to those brave Dwarves who sacrificed their lives for their brethren. May the Stone hold them and guide their path forever._

"It is names?" Leliana's musical voice broke Wynne's thoughts and made the Enchanter jump, "What is the significance?"

"I think it is a memorial to those Dwarves who volunteered and those who were sacrificed to the Anvil," Wynne was studying the runes more intently, "It's made out almost like a registry. I wonder if the Dwarves in Orzammar have any idea of its existence?"

The Orlesian's slender fingers were tracing the names and she cocked her head, taking in the registry as a whole before she answered.

"I would be surprised if they did. It is a good thing to see this. Those Dwarves deserve recognition for their sacrifices."

"Indeed, indeed..." The Enchanter's voice trailed off and she crouched, pulling her pack around to dig through it and come up with a few sheets of parchment and a broken stick of charcoal, "Could you help me, Leliana? I want to take a rubbing of that dedication back to the city. It should be on record."

The Orlesian had already stepped forward to help and by the time they had finished their work, Oghren was lifting Branka into the rough grave and Caridin had finished the forging.

"Give this crown to the king of your choice, my friend," He said to Ffion, giving it to her reverently, "I have no wish to know his name, I merely want to rest."

Something clicked in Ffion's mind and she held up her free hand.

"One last thing, Branka in all her... there was a cave in, blocking our way back," She almost crossed her fingers as she added, "Is there another way, or do we start digging?"

"There is another way," There was a smile in Caridin's voice and he motioned with one large hand. Ffion followed the motion and turned to see a small, near invisible track that she could only spot because she was standing where she was, "You see that path there? That will lead you to a stone door with my seal carved in the center. Take my hammer with you and press the base of it into the seal; the door will open."

"Clever," Ffion observed and then faced the Anvil again. She studied it for a moment. It was large and square, a normal thing, save the lines of brilliant blue lyrium coursing through it, "And to destroy this?"

"My hammer," Caridin was suddenly quite grim and Ffion's grey eyes went back to him, catching the importance of this act, "Your heart must be pure, my friend. You must want to destroy the Anvil without a thought given to using it for your own gain."

Ffion nodded and stepped to the Anvil, taking up Caridin's heavy hammer. She paused for a second longer, her thoughts drifting to everything she had witnessed and experienced since this had started... And found that the only thing she really, truly desired, besides a hot bath and real bed, was to be done. Done with everything; the walking; the exhaustion; the deception of those in power; the worry that none of this would ever be over; and most of all she was done with the grief of losing everyone and everything that mattered to her. She let the Anvil encompass all of this and raised the hammer over her head, holding it in both hands, and slamming it down onto the lyrium lined surface. It split along those lines and shattered into pieces, much more quickly than she ever would have believed.

"Bless you, friend," Caridin's voice was soft and he walked to the edge of the incline, looking over that lava river, "Atrast nal tunsha, may you forever find your way in the dark."

And with that, he stepped off the ledge and disappeared into the lava. The sound of the last two Golems collapsing as their creator died made Ffion jump. She turned to her companions and found that they were all looking at her expectantly. Tightening her hold on the hammer and taking the crown up again, she trudged back down the incline towards them, Tilly trotting halfway up to meet her. She felt the steady, curious gazes of both Zevran and Alistair and ignored them, her grey eyes fixing on Oghren instead as he approached. Beyond him, she could see the small mound of Branka's grave and felt a twinge of regret at the sight of the heavy shield laying across the dirt with the Dwarf's weapon used as a headstone.

"I really am sorry, Oghren," She said quietly, "If there had been any other way... If she would only have listened-"

"Listened? Branka? Yer dreamin', Ffion," The Dwarf interrupted with a snort of disbelief, but there was a flickering of respect in his green eyes, "Tha' moss-licker would sooner ligh' herself on fire than lis'en ter any o' us. Are we stayin' here or movin' on?"

Ffion crouched, pulling her pack around to tuck the crown carefully inside. She could feel everyone's eyes burning into her and she mentally steeled herself for what was coming next.

"No, we'll go on," She answered simply and then raised her voice to drown out the protests from the others, "We have no idea how long we've really been down here. For all we know, the Assembly has voted and Harrowmont was thrown to the wolves. Hell, maybe the Archdemon appeared and there isn't anything to return to. Forget about convincing me; you have my thanks, and I know you mean well, but fawn over me when I collapse in exhaustion, there isn't time for it now."

She closed her pack and set it where it belonged again, before getting to her feet and heading for the door that Caridin had indicated. Tilly followed like her shadow, and Sten and Oghren were right behind the Mabari. The others had no choice but to reluctantly fall in. This hell at least was finally, almost, over.


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N: **Happy Easter, all! This chapter is extra long for you guys and has one of my all time favorite scenes so far. I hope you enjoy! And, once again, I had to kind of wing it with Leliana's tale, so if any of you see any **really** glaring mistakes, let me know. Thanks!

* * *

"Why the delaying tactics, old man?" Bhelen demanded, spreading his arms and allowing the torchlight to gleam off of his red steel armor, "My father has one child left to assume the throne. No one in their right mind could deny him this."

Harrowmont clenched his jaw, trying to calm himself, and coldly eyed the arrogant prince that was standing opposite of him in the Assembly chamber. The vote was moments away and he was desperate to delay them for as long as he could, praying for the success of the Wardens.

"On his deathbed, your father made me swear that you would not succeed him," He replied and his voice echoed around the cavernous room. The eyes of the Assembly were on him and he knew that it if the vote was taken now, there was no way he would win. Bhelen had blackmailed and threatened enough of the Deshyrs and their families that his victory was sealed, "I mean to keep that promise."

"Look around you," The prince's hand waved dismissively, "Your heroes aren't returning. I call for the-"

The door suddenly slammed open and a new voice was added to the mix.

"With all due respect, Prince, I would hold my tongue if I were you," Ffion strode down the steps, into the middle of the Assembly with her hound beside her, while her companions crowded on the second landing. Her grey eyes were studying the crowd coldly and she gave the impression of being higher than all of them, nevermind the fact that the room was shaped after an arena and the nobles were all sitting above her. She looked back at the Assembly steward as he came to the end of the landing where he had been stationed between Harrowmont and Bhelen, "The heroes arrive in the knick of time, as usual. Perhaps this will sway the Assembly one way or the other without the blackmail performed by some of the more... morally questionable among us."

She held up the Caridin forged crown and let her eyes flicker over the prince, noting how he swelled with indignation. The steward was coming down the steps towards her as Bhelen spoke.

"Where does a cloudhead like you get the gall to-"

"Save the arguments for later, Highness," The steward interrupted without a thought given to the impropriety of it, and Ffion couldn't help but send the prince a cheeky smile. He took the crown from the Warden and examined it closely before letting out a shocked exhalation. His gaze met hers in disbelief and he continued in a quiet voice, "This is the seal of Caridin."

"Yes, it sure is," Ffion was downright chipper and only those gathered impatiently behind her knew the truth. She wasn't cheerful; she was on the brink of collapse. They had hardly stopped in their trek back to Orzammar and Ffion herself had taken on several of the watches when she did allow a few hours' rest. She and Wynne had almost had several serious blow-outs, Zevran and Alistair were annoying the hell out of her with their combined fussing, and Leliana's gentle concern was grating. But they had made it and that was all that mattered to her. And as soon as this was over, she was probably going to get good and drunk, for the third time in her life… So long as the now pissed off prince didn't throw a wrench in those plans, that is, "He crafted it for the king of his choosing," She paused again, partly for the effect, partly because that little white lie surprised even herself, "And that is the Lord Pyral Harromont. You all wanted a Paragon's word, you've received it."

"And I have the evidence in my hands," The steward's voice was stronger now and he held up the finely crafted crown, "Lord Harrowmont, step forward."

Harrowmont, blinking in shock at such an unexpected, but welcome, turn of events came down the steps. He stopped in the center of the room with Ffion, her hound, and the steward.

"Kneel, my lord," The steward nestled the crown onto Harrowmont's grey and white hair and added solemnly, "My lords and ladies of the Assembly, I give you Orzammar's new king!"

Bhelen's face was bright red with rage and his gloved hands curled into tight fists. His fury was hardly contained as he interrupted the beginning smattering of applause.

"No, I won't let you take what belongs to me!" He shouted amongst scattered gasps from the nobles gathered.

Before anyone could sound the warning, one of the 'nobles' behind Bhelen threw his cloak back, bringing his arm up in that same instant. He was wearing one of the same weapons Leliana wore on her gauntlet, and was aiming for Ffion. Zevran was faster. One of his knives left his hand and sank home in the Dwarf's chest, slicing through the leather armor easily. With a yell of anger, Bhelen was leaping forward, making for Harrowmont while another of the nobles revealed himself to be working with the prince as well. Ffion was yanking Harrowmont out of the way and Leliana took out the other guard. The Warden turned about again at Tilly's ferocious bark, and she grabbed for her swords as Bhelen dove at her. She was just in time to parry his blow and land one of her own, that red steel blade seeming to hone in on the prince's neck of its own accord. She pushed him away and his body fell heavily to the stone floor, blood pouring from the fatal wound. Letting out a sigh and feeling her shoulders slump, she cast about for something to clean her blade with and was surprised when Harrowmont himself offered her a handkerchief.

"Warden Ffion, you have done more for Orzammar than anyone had the right to ask," He said and gave her a bow as she arched her brows at him, her hands stilling on the razor sharp blade, "You will have the Wardens' traditional Dwarven allies in your war against the Blight. You have only to send us the word and we shall see that you have all the warriors and any other aid the city can afford to give."

It was on the tip of her tongue to give him a smart-ass reply, but that wouldn't be fitting for a Warden and the nobles were all watching with a solemnity that killed her notion. She slid the blade home and tossed the bloody handkerchief onto Bhelen's body.

"Thank-you, Highness," She replied and inclined her head, "Now, if there is nothing else you need of us, we would dearly like long, very hot baths and about a month's worth of rest."

"And you shall have it," Harrowmont was grinning, apprehensive of this new power he had, but able to see the humor in Ffion's blunt honesty, "At no cost to you or your companions. The Stone guide you in your continued quest."

Ffion gave him the formal Warden bow and sent a last look around the Assembly before returning to the others. Without another word, everyone turned and left the Assembly chamber, going straight to Tapsters. Syd went wild with joy at the sight of Sten and Tilly was almost as happy to see the little donkey. The innkeeper informed them that while baths were indeed available to all of them, the room division was altered. Sten, Alistair, Zevran, and Oghren, who revealed that he didn't _technically_ have a home, would share double rooms; and Leliana and Wynne would share another. The party allowed Ffion to have one single room and Morrigan was quick to claim the other.

The Warden finally consented to relaxing and she told them that they would leave the next day... or possibly the day after. There was really no rush anymore, and she dallied for as long as she could in the steaming water brought up by Nora. She came quite close to falling sound asleep in the tub, but each time she started dozing she saw the Broodmother, heard its groans and screeches, and replayed the Dwarf's chant over and over in her head. The Broodmother's face would start out as the Dwarf captain's, morph into Branka's, Oriana's, her mother's... and then her own, screeching inhumanly and waving the chubby, childlike arms... And that was when she would start awake, fumbling for the blades that were no longer hanging on her bare back.

Tilly whined, pushing her chestnut head under her lady's hand and then licking her fingers. Ffion stroked her ears absentmindedly and almost cried as she realized that, while the others were probably sleeping soundly, she could honestly say that her next dreamless sleep _might_ possibly come just before she was doomed to the Deep Roads. Her grey eyes searched the sparse little room and heard the voices from the bar travel up to her. She recalled that taste of the smooth red wine and the ale that Zevran allowed her to sip the night before they left for the Roads, and her mind was made up. She'd sleep later.

It was Alistair who found her, much later, in the tavern with a mug of ale in one hand and a broad, silly smile on her face. Tilly was curled at her feet and her stub tail wagged at the sight of the ex-Templar. He had been unable to sleep, thinking of the argument that was still hanging between them. He knew that she had, in part, let it go but not discussing it was grating on him and he _had_ to rehash it. To tell her that, if anyone had the right to break down so completely, to go off in anger at him, it would be hers... completely. He had heard that women Wardens truly bore the brunt of this life. By all accounts, their odds of surviving the Joining were slimmest, they had severe nightmares, and of course, at the end of everything, they had only a worse hell to look forward to. Unless someone had pity and love enough to dispose of them before that fate... And this was something that Ffion needed to know. If it was going to be up to him at all, she _wasn't _going to face that.

And here she was, drunk, grinning at him like a fool, and lifting her tankard as a though giving a toast.

"'llo, Alistair," She greeted in a drawl, blinking rather owlishly at him as he sat across from her, "Come for a pint, or th' conversation? Can see why Oghren likes this stuff. Can't feel a thing."

"Uh-huh," Alistair stopped himself short of rubbing his forehead, knowing she would pick up and probably go off on it, "And that's what you're doing down here instead of getting some well-deserved and much needed sleep?"

"Sleep?" She repeated and then giggled, taking another sip, and then resting her chin in her palm with the air that her head was getting too heavy, "Tha's funny. Sleeping wi' that... Broodmother screeching in m'head... Maker's balls, I'm sounding like Oghren."

Alistair was well aware that it would be useless to apologize; she'd never remember it, and he got to his feet. He reached out to take her elbow as she drained the last of the ale. Nora waved as a way of telling him nothing was owed for the drinks, and he couldn't resist the tug towards mischief.

"You know, I bet I could get you to tell me anything I wanted to know about you," He said as he pulled her gently to her feet.

Ffion allowed it, rocking into him as though they were sailors in a rough sea. Neither one of them were wearing their armor and he couldn't help but notice how soft and warm her small body was. She seemed to fit against his side when he drew her to him to help her keep her balance, and he would have been lying if he said didn't enjoy that thought.

"Nope," She replied and her grin was the slow warm one that made his stomach feel funny and his face get hot, "No way. Ffion Co... Ffion the Warden's a vault. There isn't nothin'... nothing?... That I'll release."

Alistair was chuckling, a nice sound that rumbled through his chest, and Ffion liked that she could feel that vibration.

"'Isn't nothing?' That's good, I like it," He said and started towards the stairs with Tilly in tow. He was ignoring the more suggestive leers that were sent their way and he clasped her tightly as they tried the steps, "I don't think you'll remember this in the morning, but... I'm sorry, Ffion, about what I said. You're not playing the martyr; you're being a hero and I had no right to say what I did."

Ffion was stumbling with each step, holding tightly to him and giggling again as the stairs tried to come up to meet her. She risked looking up at him and then wished she hadn't as she tripped and grabbed at his shirt.

"Well, I – whoa, those stairs aren't stayin' where they should," She commented and then laughed, "Damn it all, if I won't b'hurting tomorrow. You were very naughty, Alistair, and you're right, but I forgive you. If only because you look fairly adorable apologizin'."

Alistair's cheeks went bright red and they stayed silent as they mastered the last few steps. Not without mishap, but the ex-Templar was enjoying Ffion's self-induced helplessness, probably a little too much, and he didn't wish for it to end so soon. Nevertheless, he managed to get her to her room and inside to the bed, where she collapsed onto her back, giggling again as she looked up at the ceiling.

"Ya know, this is the firs' time I've had a boy in m'room since Rick..." She observed, allowing her voice to trail off with a note of sorrow.

Alistair, busy with removing her boots, couldn't let that one go.

"Rick?" He repeated, "Who's Rick?"

The Warden realized quite suddenly what she was saying, despite the alcohol coursing through her system, and she propped herself on her elbows, looking down at him. She waited for the honey colored eyes to meet hers before twisting her fingers over her full mouth as though locking her lips.

"All you need t'know is he was a friend," She answered, "An' just a friend; don't worry yourself."

"As though I could help it," He replied as her leather boots dropped to the floor. He wondered how much he meant that. It was said mostly to make her smile that smile again, and of course, it worked. She was giggling while he tucked her feet up on the bed, pulling the cover loose to drape it over her, "And now, you should sleep while you can, my poor little drunk. You'll be feeling that ale in the morning."

"When did you turn into Zevran?" She questioned and then grinned as the ex-Templar bent over her, stroking her hair with a tenderness that was more than just the brotherly affection he had shown her of late.

"Well, I have been spending too much time with the Elf," He answered easily and wondered if the reason he was so forward was because he knew she probably wouldn't remember any of this. He started to continue, but froze when Ffion's hand reached towards him.

She stroked his cheek with that same tenderness and then her fingers traveled to the back of his head. Pulling his face to hers as she lifted her chin, she planted a kiss square on his lips. Her full mouth was soft and inviting, and Alistair couldn't help the gasp that escaped him when she pulled back. His honey colored eyes were lost in her grey as she patted his cheek fondly and then nestled her head on her curled arm.

"G'night, my friend, an' may both our dreams b'pure of screeching monsters."

Her words suggested that she hardly knew what she had done, and she didn't realize that the ex-Templar lingered long after she had fallen asleep, watching her in speechless, adoring wonder.

* * *

Sten and Zevran were the only ones around when Leliana descended to the main room late the next morning. Wynne had left much earlier for a shopping-spree-sweep through the vendors for more supplies before they left and the Elf was standing as Leliana approached the table. His amber eyes raked her as boldly as ever and his grin was particularly wicked as he gave her a little bow.

"Curious how this life suits you, lovely Leliana," He observed, glancing at Sten rather conspiratorially, "Do you not agree, my friend, that all our fairer companions grow more beautiful as each day passes?"

Sten didn't bother to reply. He got to his feet and ignored the Elf completely.

"If anything is decided, I will be close by," He said and left Tapsters without a farewell.

Zevran watched him go and then shrugged comically at Leliana.

"I am merely trying to help Morrigan in her… conquest," He explained and the grin grew.

Leliana shook her head, rolling her eyes.

"And I am sure she does not appreciate your efforts. He certainly doesn't seem to, no?" Her pale blue eyes went around the room, "Any sign of Ffion?"

"None, which is a good thing," Zevran's face was suddenly harder, though there was a pleased gleam in his eyes now, "Let our dove rest as long as she likes, yes? Now, I am going out to find some… interesting company. Care to join me?"

The Orlesian knew exactly what he was talking about and she truly doubted that was what he intended. He had lost quite a bit of interest in that sort of thing as he grew closer to Ffion, but she wasn't going to call him out on it, not now.

"No, thank you, but no," She answered firmly and could have sworn she saw a flicker of relief in the amber eyes.

"Ah well, one cannot win them all," He pulled off the disappointment flawlessly, "Farewell then, my dear, you will be missed."

She waited for him to leave the inn before going back up the steps and turning down the hall.

"Good morning, serah," A pleasant voice greeted, "I trust everythin' is okay?"

Leliana turned about. Nora was headed her way, a little pile of soft white robes draped over her arms. She was smiling at the Orlesian, always taking the time to pause and chat.

"Perfect," Leliana answered and then glanced at Ffion's bedroom door, "Do you know if the Warden is up and about yet?"

"Yes she is," Nora's face altered a little and she looked almost amused as she added, "It seems you all are getting a late start, not that I'm complainin'. After what you all did, you can stay here as long as you please. I was just takin' one of these in to the Warden myself."

"I will do it, Nora," Leliana held out one hand, "I have some things to discuss with her anyway."

Nora shrugged her shoulders and handed over one of the robes.

"O'course," She replied, "Now I've got to get back to work. G'day, serah."

Leliana's past and those baser desires that came with it, ruled her for a moment, and she couldn't help but watch the Dwarven woman leave, admiring the graceful way she moved. She gave herself a mental shake and focused on the task at hand. She stepped to Ffion's door and rapped her knuckles against it. Ffion's voice was faint as it called an answer and Leliana understood why after she opened the door. She could smell the bath soap and though Tilly was laying in plain sight, Ffion was hidden behind the screen that concealed one corner.

"Thanks, Nora," The Warden's voice was quiet and very tired, "You can just drape it across the bed, I'll grab it."

"I would much rather stay and chat, if it is okay with you?" Leliana replied with a smile.

There was a silence and then Ffion answered with more warmth in her voice this time.

"Sure," She was speaking quietly still and it almost sounded like she was in pain, "Could I have the robe first, though?"

Leliana draped it over the top of the screen and turned to perch on the corner of the bed.

"I trust you slept well?"

The robe was tugged from the screen and there was a little rustling as Ffion wrapped it around herself. She took a minute to respond, as though she was thinking of the correct answer.

"Good enough," She said finally, "Are the others waiting for me?"

"No, no worries on that account," The Orlesian was chipper and she shifted her weight as she went on, "Zevran, Sten, and Wynne are scattered in different directions and there's no sign of Oghren, Alistair, or Morrigan."

Ffion came around the screen, cinching the tie of the robe around her slender waist. Her chocolate curls were loose about her shoulders, damp from the bath, and though her grey eyes were shadowed, they weren't nearly as dark as they had been. Her face was pale which wasn't surprising after the two weeks spent under the city and she gave the Orlesian a wan smile before gingerly sitting on the mattress.

"Good," She replied and then sprawled on her back with a sigh. Rubbing her face with one hand, she added, "Now do me a favor, Leliana, and stop shouting, please."

The Warden's pale face, careful movements, and soft voice suddenly made sense and Leliana smiled. She leaned back a little and touched Ffion's shoulder.

"Poor dear," She said, "Is it really so awful?"

Ffion's grey eyes cracked open and she dropped her hand from her face. She stared up at the Orlesian in disbelief and then decided against arguing. Her head hurt too much for that. She remembered now why she had told herself the past two times that she wouldn't ever get that drunk again, but… well she needed something.

"I had to sleep," She said simply and wondered how it was that her voice could sound so childish.

Tilly, trotting across the room to be with her lady, knocked into the pile of armor and arms that had been dropped to the floor and sent them sliding with a grating sound that made Ffion wince and gasp in pain.

Leliana got to her feet and seemed absentminded when she spoke.

"Sit tight, my dear, I will get you something that will get you on your feet again."

The Orlesian was gone in a flash and Ffion sighed, closing her eyes again, and raking one hand back through her hair. Even Tilly's breathing was grating, but if she put her outside the door the Mabari would start barking and that would be like dropping a hammer in an empty marble hall… that happened to exist in Ffion's head. So instead the Warden lay quietly and tried to remember if she had done anything ridiculous the night before.

The last thing she really, truly remembered was thinking that she wanted to get drunk. Which she managed handily. What she couldn't recall was how she had gotten back to her room, into her bed, and even without her boots. She could dimly remember someone talking to her and helping, but there was no voice, no distinct voice, and Nora had remained mute about it, which was a blessing and a curse in one. She didn't want the others to know what had happened and she and the Dwarf had already discussed this. Nora would keep her mouth shut and so would Leliana, if Ffion had anything to say about it.

As though she had been summoned, the Orlesian was in the doorway again and she swung the door partially closed after she entered. There was a mug clasped in one hand and she settled on the mattress again, extending this to Ffion as the Warden sat up slowly.

"Here," Leliana said, "This will help with the headache and anything else that is ailing you. And it should act fairly quickly."

Ffion eyed it dubiously, but she was hurting and in the mindset to try anything that had even a remote chance of helping. She downed the contents of the mug and grimaced at the taste. The Orlesian was watching her with pity and added,

"Sorry about the taste, dear, but sugar makes it completely useless. And we do not want that, no?"

"No," Ffion agreed and then laid back again, studying the ceiling and waiting for this magic brew to take charge.

"And did you manage to sleep?" Leliana's voice was quiet and she was leaning on her elbow, studying the Warden's profile.

"Yeah, I did, but it wasn't like I had much choice in that matter," Ffion could feel the sharp pounding in her head starting to ease and she let out a relieved sigh. The room didn't seem too bright anymore and she could roll her eyes over to the Orlesian without that stab of pain, "That's quite the stuff. Where did you learn that recipe?"

Leliana gave a little shrug, her blue eyes rather shuttered.

"You forget that I am from Orlais," She answered, "My mother was a Ferelden native, but was quite devoted to Lady Cecile, and after the liberation of your homeland, my mother accompanied our lady back to Orlais. When Mother died, I was taken in by the lady and became her personal maid. When one is raised in the Orlesian courts, among the nobles, you learn a great deal of their secrets. And they can have numerous uses: blackmail, dissension, and those that are very practical. How are you feeling, love?"

Ffion's cheeks reddened at that, but she let it go. Leliana would forever be what she had always been.

"Better, much better," She cocked her head, not sitting up yet. Her brain told her it wasn't ready for that, so she took the opportunity to learn more about this deceptively naive companion of hers. There seemed to be so much more to Leliana than met the eye, "When we picked you up, you were a traveling bard that happened to be a Chantry sister… which you still are, I guess. Once in the Chantry, always in the Chantry, right? You probably had a good thing going in Orlais, why didn't you stick around there and make something of it? It wasn't just the vision, was it?"

That last was just barely a question and Leliana allowed a smile, though her eyes were sad. Zevran and Morrigan were right: Ffion noticed more than anyone would give her credit for.

"No, it was not just my vision," She replied and settled more comfortably on the bed beside the Warden. Her small hand supported her head and her voice softened, easing into the 'story-telling mode,' as Alistair put it, "I spent some time in the courts and learned whatever anyone was willing to teach me, but I was restless. My mother had been content to stay in one place, she desired that security, but I always had more of my father in me. He had been a wandering bard and though my lady said the affair was quite passionate, there was no chance for Mother to convince my father to settle with her. And this wandering passed to me. I met Marjolaine when I was 19 and she became my mentor of sorts," Leliana's eyes were lost to the past and even the little lift of her lips was sad as she went on, "Marjolaine was so… learned, experienced, and so very charming. She invited me to work for her as a bard, traveling from region to region in Orlais and gathering what I thought was simple, rather useless information. It was not long before we became lovers and she confided what her outfit was really doing. The politics in Orlais are just as confusing and dangerous as those in Antiva, but with one distinctive difference: the nobles are obsessed with espionage. And so it was quite simple for Marjolaine and her company to find work; lucrative work, and I was fascinated. I joined without question and played my part in this… game. At first it was simple, petty things, which were just part of my 'training,' I suppose. Planting evidence of affairs that didn't exist, ruining a noble's reputation so his rival could gain the upper hand. This was nothing like what came later. Later, it was all concerning affairs of the state: hurting other countries, building up Orlais as some pinnacle of human virtue…" Leliana broke off, her expression disgusted, but Ffion hardly realized, she was too wrapped up in the story, "And then came that night… My companions and I were to plant information in one of the nobles' homes that Marjolaine promised was merely embarrassing for him. She accompanied us and helped to distract the guards while I dropped the papers in the master bedroom. And this one time, of all the occasions that I had done this, I took a closer look. This evidence was not merely embarrassing, it was dangerous to Orlais, Marjolaine, and everything else I held dear. So I told her, thinking that she had been caught unawares as well. We agreed to steal the documents back and undo what had been done, and once more, she went along. I should have guessed something was off from the beginning, but I was so concerned for her, for us, that I leaped into this without a thought. We got into the estate so easily and there were no guards in sight as we sneaked to the bedroom. It was not until I had picked up the sealed documents that the alarm was called. Marjolaine ran out to draw some of the guards and my companions and I were left to take care of the rest. We fought our way out of the estate, a close call for all of us, and found Marjolaine hiding in an alley a few streets away. I was furious and terrified, thinking that we were finished. Those papers had the seal of the Orlesian military on them and I was sure what we had done was paramount to treason, which was punishable by death. Marjolaine tried to sooth me, she approached as though to take me in her arms, and I saw the blade too late. She struck me in the stomach with a knife I had given her in our first year and left me to one of the guard captains. A guard captain who was another player of the 'game' and one of her many lovers. My companions and I were thrown in prison and I was branded as the traitor. While I was waiting for my executioner, someone else arrived, telling me that I was not the first to be betrayed by Marjolaine; that she looked for people like me. Those wanting to belong, to be loved, and part of something greater. My visitor smuggled me a rucksack containing a key, a knife, and poultices for my wound. I escaped the dungeons, finding one of my companions on the way and losing the other… Dear faithful Tug… And as we emerged from this hell, a lay sister greeted us, secreting us away in the safety of the Chantry. I found that my saviour was a revered mother Dorothea, who happened to be a victim of Marjolaine's as well. My lover had stolen papers from her that she needed for her ministry. In addition, Dorothea had felt somehow responsible for me and saw me as a means to right her past wrongs. So she told me where I could hope to find Marjolaine and prepared me for that meeting. Alas, when we clashed, she escaped. I managed to retrieve Dorothea's papers and we got revenge on that guard captain, but after 7 years, I was finished with that life. I walked away from it all and went back to Dorothea and the Chantry. She initiated me and I then came to Ferelden and Lothering, where you and Alistair and Morrigan found me. So you are right, my dear, it was not only my vision. It was something that went so much deeper."

Ffion was blinking up at her in shocked surprise. She had heard Leliana sing, of course, and she had listened with half an ear on a few occasions when the Orlesian got to chatting with Wynne or Alistair, but she had never heard anything like this. She felt like she had been with her in those streets and that estate, and the softness of Leliana's face and sweet note that her voice took on when she said Marjolaine's name told the Warden that she still felt deeply for her former lover.

"Much, much deeper," She finally managed, "A whole hell of a lot deeper than anything I'd expected. So you haven't seen Marjolaine since that night? She didn't try to hunt you down?"

"I am quite sure she had me followed, but there was not a threat. I became a lay sister and left everything else behind; what could I do to her?"

Ffion cocked her head, reading more into that than the Orlesian probably wanted.

"You don't miss that excitement at all?" She questioned, "If it were me I'd have a hard time finding something to fill my time."

Leliana shrugged again, her eyes unreadable but her smile still sad.

"I was betrayed by someone I loved, someone I thought loved me," She replied, "That was enough of a blow to my ego and desire for excitement. Though now, here with you and the others… this, I could get used to."

"I'm sorry, Leliana," Ffion said sheepishly, "I didn't mean to pry… well, yeah, I did. What I didn't want to do was offend you; sorry."

Leliana chuckled, her face still pained but she was returning to her usual cheerful self. She reached out with her free hand and stroked the pile of chocolate curls that fanned around Ffion's head.

"Forgiven, of course. You had asked so sweetly at first that I could not refuse," She answered and smiled down at the Warden.

Ffion shifted uncomfortably and pulled loose. Her cheeks went red as she sat up and took for granted the fact that her head didn't immediately abuse her. She folded her fingers in her lap and met the Orlesian's eyes squarely.

"I don't mean to offend you, Leliana, but please, I'm not-"

"Comfortable, I know," The Orlesian interrupted her in a sigh and perched beside her, "This time I must apologize. I am sorry, Ffion, I don't mean for it to be that way. I suppose you could blame this on the fact that Zevran and I are cut from the same cloth."

Like she had thought, that distracted Ffion and the Warden was cocking her head, frowning a little.

"Cut from the same cloth?" She repeated, "What do you mean? What does that have to do with… with me?"

The Orlesian lifted her shoulders and brushed her copper hair from her eyes, which went back to Ffion's grey.

"You have no idea why we are so enamored of you?" She countered, but didn't give Ffion a chance to reply, "Why we feel the need to protect and shelter you as much as possible?"

Ffion snorted and then winced. Okay, so her head wasn't completely one hundred percent yet. She sat straight and opened her mouth to respond, but something made her pause. Glancing at Leliana with an almost apologetic smile, she instead said softly,

"I thought at first it was because no one thought I could do any of this, but now I'm not so sure. You all obviously care for me, and even when I get annoyed and snap at you, that doesn't change," She was frowning pensively, running one hand through the unruly curls and tossing them over her shoulders, "It's not that now, is it? Like your story, there's something deeper there, and the only thing I can come up with is my inexperience."

The Orlesian was smiling in delight, almost as if she was a tutor and Ffion a pet pupil.

"Much closer than I thought you'd get," She replied and grinned when she was rewarded with the Warden's chuckle at that parroting of her words, "It is actually even more simple than that. You, my dear, are a very innocent young woman, in about every way one can be. That is not to suggest that you are incapable of accomplishing this task, which is obviously not the case. What I mean is that innocence is such a rare thing, such a precious thing in this world of ours, and we are determined to see it lasts."

"Zevran told me the same thing… kind of," Ffion's cheeks were coloring again, "But he wasn't nearly as nice as you're being. And I still don't understand. Why's it so important to you?"

"Zevran is a tease," Leliana said simply, "And it is important because we have grown up without it. Innocence in any subject cannot last long when one is surrounded by bored nobles and gossiping ladies. And as far as Marjolaine… Well, I have never been a true child, I guess one could say. And as for Zevran; the son of an Elven woman whose lover deserted her when he learned of the child, a mother who died giving birth to him, leaving him in the care of Antivan whores in an Antivan whorehouse… there was no chance at all for him. And then we find you; this young woman who has had everything she wanted and remained untouched by the evils that we have known. This has become the banner for us and we are united on at least this one front."

Ffion was rolling her eyes, figuring that it would be better to feign indifference with this and pretend that touching thought was rather ridiculous to her. She rubbed Tilly's ears as the Mabari pressed close.

"And so protecting Ferelden from the Blight and gathering all the allies we can, knocking the Coward General off his pedestal, and destroying the bastard H… None of this amounted to a banner to unite under?"

Leliana gave her a quick look at that abrupt finish, but that went ignored.

"You and Alistair have united under that banner, and since we are behind you, it evens out in the end," She answered plainly and then changed the subject, "By the way, how did you get up here last night? You are still looking haggard, so that must be quite the hangover. Which means you probably do not remember much after you started drinking."

"You're good," Ffion was standing, pushing Tilly gently away and going to her pile of clothes and armor, "And I honestly don't remember. I think I had some help, but I'm not sure. Nothing… happened, I can tell you that," She sent the Orlesian a partly abashed, partly firm look as she headed for the screen again, "And I would appreciate it if this doesn't get out to the rest of them."

Leliana inclined her head, not able to hide the smile that curved her mouth.

"Of course, but, my dear Ffion, please don't get into that habit," She was being quite maternal suddenly and Ffion's heart twisted at that genuine concern; she missed her mother, "Oghren is quite enough for us, no?"

"Right," Ffion was smiling in return and ducking out of sight, "No worries, Leliana, I'll ask Wynne if she has anything that'll help. Unless you have more tricks up your sleeve?"

"More than you will ever know, dear."


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N: **Hope all of you have had a good week and I wish you all the best!

* * *

Alistair had just picked up the sausage to take a bite when a hand gave his shoulder a pat and Ffion's voice greeted him pleasantly as she slid into the bench next to him. The sausage promptly slipped from his fingers, bounced off his knee, leaving a smear of grease, and landed on the floor where Tilly snapped it up before anyone else could even blink.

"Oops, sorry, Alistair," Ffion said apologetically and extended her own plate, "You want one of mine?"

Alistair studied her intently for a moment before answering, looking for any sign of recognition to what had happened last night. There was nothing in her clear grey eyes except a sudden uncertainty. She faltered for a moment, frowning at him, and then parted her lips to go on. He spoke first, summoning a cheerful smile in spite of that sharp disappointment that went through him.

"Sure, thanks," He lifted one of the sausage links from her plate and went back to his breakfast.

Ffion turned to her own and was unaware of Alistair's continued scrutiny. She was downright chipper this morning and had none of the telltale signs of what should have been one hell of a hangover. And as Leliana settled across from the Wardens, greeting Wynne and Morrigan pleasantly, he had the suspicion that the Orlesian was the one to thank for that. So here, Ffion was able to get the sleep she needed, avoid the hangover, and suspend him in this awful middle ground. He remembered clearly the feel of her lips, the silkiness of her curls, and how she had kissed him without a moment of hesitation… all of which had come from the ale and none of which she remembered. And if he was being honest with himself, he had never expected her to. That little kiss was something that was now meant only for him and he tucked the moment away, filing it in his head to dwell on later, and huddle around the warmth that emanated from it. But 'filing away' was impossible as Ffion turned to him with that slow, warm grin and teased,

"Enjoying that more than Tilly?"

"What? Oh," He was startled out of his thoughts, cursing mentally as his cheeks went hot, and then grabbed the sausage she had given him to take a few rapid bites, "It's got to be a tie."

Ffion's smile went from that same uncertainty to amusement and she chuckled. Wynne was looking at Alistair knowingly, while Leliana grinned and Morrigan arched her brows, her gold eyes almost pained. The ex-Templar was thinking that he'd never again sit and eat breakfast with four women when one of them had given him a drunken kiss just the night before. A little voice in his head was demanding to know what circumstances would bring _that_ about again when Zevran suddenly materialized and he was happy to see the Elf for the first time… ever.

"Well, my little dove," Zevran's voice was a purr as he seated himself on Ffion's other side and lifted one of the slices of toast from her plate, "You are looking better this morning. What wonders a good night's rest can do, yes?"

Ffion and Leliana exchanged a quick look and Ffion was smiling at the Elf. She knew that she was looking better and she felt a million times better than she did when she first opened her eyes, but there was still that clinging knowledge of what her fate would be, and she knew that there were going to be more sleepless nights than even she expected. But Zevran was pleased with her appearance now and even Morrigan could _almost_ pass for happy, so she would go along with it.

"Right," She agreed and couldn't help but grin as Oghren came into view, blinking in the strong light, and looking like he needed a double dose of Leliana's special concoction, "Well, Oghren, was it enough of a party for you?"

"Ya think that's somethin'?" The Dwarf was plunking down onto the bench across from them, next to Leliana, and he managed a smile, "Tha's nothin'. I could drink every one o'those nug-humpers un'er the table."

"And it looks like more than a couple of them tried," Alistair cut in dryly.

Oghren's shoulders lifted a little, but his eyes hadn't left Ffion.

"I got somethin' to ask ya, Warden," He said and was more hesitant then they had ever seen him, "I wanna go along with ya when ya leave. There's nothin' here fer me, not anymore."

Ffion nodded and knocked the loose curl back from her eyes.

"I thought you'd ask," She replied, "And of course, welcome aboard."

Oghren had decided that even if she had said 'no,' he'd tag along, had built himself up for it, and he couldn't help but be surprised and a little disappointed at how easy it had been. He relaxed, his green eyes pleased, and then pulled a plate to him as Nora set it on the table.

"Thanks," He said gruffly to Ffion, "So, boss, wha's the plan?"

"We'll head out today," The Warden answered absentmindedly. She was pushing her eggs around the plate and watching a group of Dwarves that were huddled in one corner of the room. Two of them kept casting dark looks at her party and she wondered how much trouble they would pose later.

"Head out where, precisely?" Morrigan's voice was cool, its command as apparent as ever.

"South, back towards Redcliffe. Teagan may have some news for us."

"And then?" Wynne was leaning forward, studying the Wardens as they exchanged glances, "Mages and Dwarves; our next allies are the Elves, and that means the Brecilian Forest. There have always been clans in the Forest and that would be your best bet."

Alistair nodded at the Enchanter and tried to ignore the way Zevran lounged next to Ffion with the air that that was where he belonged.

"Thanks, Wynne, we're decided then."

Sten was prepping Syd already and so when they finally gathered everything together, settling with the innkeeper who told them that Harrowmont had covered their bill, the little donkey was ready and willing to go. They left Orzammar without trouble, amidst thanks and blessings from the Dwarves that were going about their day, and they only came to a stop outside the main doors when Oghren refused to take another step. His green eyes were fixed on the clear blue sky and he was oblivious to the other companions as they bundled themselves against the biting cold with heavy cloaks and scarves. Ffion was heading down the steps and her shoulder accidentally bumped the Dwarf's which made him jump, startled. She frowned at him, following his gaze upwards and scanning the sky for whatever threat he saw.

"Are you okay, Oghren?" She asked slowly when she didn't see anything.

"Fine, jus' fine," His voice was quiet and less gruff than usual, "I jus' wanna make sure I'm not gonna take a step an' tumble up there."

Ffion's lips curled up in a delighted smile and Leliana couldn't suppress a giggle. Here was the normally fearless Oghren, the Dwarf who could take on two Ogres at once, singlehandedly, and come out without a scratch, terrified of tripping _up_ into the sky.

"If your people did not bury themselves under this mountain, you wouldn't have to worry about such a ridiculous thing," Sten was anything but sympathetic as he brushed by them both and led Syd down the steps and across the courtyard.

Ffion gave Oghren a rather comical shrug and followed after the Qunari. Zevran paused beside the Dwarf as the others trailed Ffion. He gave Oghren's shoulder a hearty slap, making the Dwarf jump again, and said cheerfully,

"Come, my smelly Dwarf, and trust the fact that we will not allow you to tumble into the sky."

They made better time hiking down the summit than they had hiking up and were able to put several miles between them and Orzammar before it was too dark to travel. The sunlight had slowly gained more warmth as they descended and if Ffion hadn't experienced the Deep Roads, seen the Broodmother and what ravages the lure of the Anvil caused, learned that she had _that_ life to look forward to, she would have enjoyed the weather as much as Tilly. The Mabari was ecstatic to be in the fresh air again. She would bound away ahead of the party and then come tearing back to do laps around everyone. Leliana had slipped Ffion another dose of whatever it was she concocted towards midday and, if not for the memory of it, Ffion would have forgotten all about getting blind drunk the night before.

As usual, the Warden took the second watch at camp and so changed her mind about asking Wynne for something to help her sleep. Her night would be fractured as it was and at least this time, when Morrigan's cool voice called her name, she didn't recall screaming in her sleep, nevermind the same nightmares as before.

She grabbed her gauntlets and boots and flipped the cover of her tent back to let Tilly out. Morrigan was arching her brows at the sight of her bare feet, but let it go.

"All is quiet," The witch said, watching as Ffion flung the heavy cloak around her shoulders and skipped to the little fire so she could pull her boots on in the warmth, "And I am going to bed."

"Thanks, Morrigan, good night," Ffion put her gauntlets on the log beside her and leaned forward to toast her fingers in the heat of the fire.

Morrigan gave her a nod and disappeared into her tent as the Warden settled for her watch. She pulled at her leather breastplate to rest it more comfortably, and then sighed as Tilly pressed against her leg. Uncomfortable though it had been at first, she had grown accustomed to sleeping in most of her armor and now it had become second nature. Her eyes fixed on the flames as she listened to the sounds in the little copse of woods that framed one side of their camp. There was the occasional hoot of an owl and the scratchings of those little nocturnal animals the owls sought. The sparse trees rustled in the wind, but their campsite was protected from that bitter foe. There were scattered patches of snow and she could dimly make these out in the firelight; and Morrigan had enough time to fall sound asleep when Tilly lifted her head, ears perked forward at a sound that was out of place.

Ffion straightened, cocking her head a little, and letting her hand go to one of her knives. She held her breath as she listened and could hear the soft rustling that was much bigger than a mouse or shrew. The taint was easy within her, so it wasn't Darkspawn and when the noises grew louder, she crouched, rolling away from the fire, and easing into the darkness to investigate. She wasn't ready to call the warning yet, thinking that this was probably just a goat or bobcat that was on the prowl, and so she moved forward quietly with Tilly beside her. The Warden came to the bend in the track they had been traveling that day and stood still, letting her eyes adjust. The moon was waxing, a little over half full, and its bright beams made the snow patches glitter and the trees where the sounds echoed look like dark sentinels, standing guard on the opposite side of the path. She remained in a fighter's stance for what felt like an eternity, her hands still itching for her blades; straining to hear what was coming.

Suddenly, Tilly gave a soft grunt of welcome and a hand went over Ffion's mouth. The Warden stiffened, trying to wrench herself free, when a familiar voice came in her ear.

"Easy, dove," Zevran was whispering cautiously, "We have visitors I think."

He eased his hold and they both dropped to a crouch. She felt him lean closer and they put their heads together.

"It's not the Darkspawn," She offered in a voice below a whisper, "I know that much."

"No," The Elf shook his head, "I think perhaps they are friends of Bhelen, but I do not think they will attack."

"Why not? They have every reason to," Ffion would have welcomed the fight. Thoughts of the Darkspawn: the Broodmother in particular, merely frustrated her and this would be an excellent outlet for that.

"They are watching us, for now," The Elf's amber eyes were studying the vast darkness, "They are seeing what our habits are so that the attack will be easier."

Ffion felt a little tremor of unease at that. Her eyes followed his and she wondered how many of them were out there. She stroked the knife hilt with her fingertips as she considered what this would mean.

"So, what are our options?" She asked, already partially knowing the answer.

The Elf gripped her elbow and steered her back to the camp and warmth of the fire. He could feel the little shivers that were trembling through her and he hated the thought of her getting sick now when they needed her healthy.

"For now?" He answered and that wasn't really a question, "We will sit by the fire and drink."

They were talking a little louder now and Ffion was feeding off the Elf's confidence in their safety. She looked sidelong at him, talking before she thought about it… as usual.

"No," She said sharply and then lowered her voice, "No, nothing for me, thanks. I'm not quite ready for it again."

Zevran led her to the log she had recently vacated and pushed her onto it. There were two flasks already sitting next to the supper dishes that needed washing and he arched his brows at her, his amber eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Again?" He repeated, "My dear one, that is a precursor to a confession."

Ffion's cheeks colored and she mentally berated herself for the slip. She watched as the Elf grabbed one of the flasks and settled on the ground at her feet, the log being too short to sit them both comfortably. He pulled the stopper loose and took a swig before looking up at her expectantly.

"There's nothing to confess," She said, wishing that she wouldn't blush so easily.

"Lying becomes you about as well as stealing," He scoffed and extended the flask, "You like the wine and you hardly ever turn down a drink. What has changed is the fact that you have seen the Broodmother, yes? That would make anyone drink."

"It's more than that," She replied, ignoring the flask. She studied her fingers for a moment and then went on carefully, "You were there, Zev, you saw that… that thing. That's my future, if I survive everything else, and that whole damn mess has given me such nightmares that… I _had _to sleep that night and that was the path I chose."

Zevran was shifting on the ground, settling closer, and propping one elbow on her knee to scrutinize her a little better. His amber eyes flickered with concern and then he was saying with a smile,

"And what magic was wrought to avoid a hangover? If you drank that much, there would be some lingering aspects, yes?"

She allowed a smile, welcoming the warmth that his body gave. Her fingers were stroking Tilly's ear as she answered easily,

"Leliana happened to be in the right place at the right time and she has tricks up her sleeve that would best even you, I think."

"I doubt that," The Elf replied, but his eyes were dancing, "She is quite something, our little bard, yes? Anyway, back to that night. How did you avoid any of us seeing or hearing about this?"

Ffion shrugged her shoulders. Her grey eyes were studying the fire and she almost reached for that drink now.

"Nora was a willing participant and Leliana was sworn to secrecy," The Warden frowned and glanced at Zevran rather sheepishly, "The only thing I haven't been able to figure out is how I managed to get upstairs. I remember going up and I _think_ someone was with me, but I can only recall snippets. It wasn't Nora or Leliana and I don't…" She trailed off suddenly, drawing herself up and meeting his gaze, "It wasn't you, was it?"

Zevran was grinning, the firelight glinting off his straight teeth. He was turning to look at her fully and enjoying the way her cheeks went even more red.

"My dear sweet innocent," He purred, still leaning on her knee, and clasping the flask in one hand, "If I had been with you while you were in such a state, I would not have left you to face the night alone."

Ffion's face went crimson to the roots of her chocolate hair. She reached out and took the flask from him, sipping at it herself, hoping to make him laugh and drop this matter completely. The Elf did chuckle, accepting the flask again and not dropping his smouldering eyes from her.

"But this you know already, yes?" He added quietly.

"That's enough of that," Ffion replied and tipped away a little, letting the cold air cool her cheeks, "Alistair is right: given the choice between you and Oghren, the Dwarf's the lesser of the two evils, and that's including _his_ drinking. Though, add Alistair to the mix and he's the one I would trust to help me. At least he wouldn't take advantage of the situation."

"My dove, you wound me," Zevran said with mock hurt, putting his free hand over his heart in a tragic gesture. His eyes were still dancing, but he was clearly thinking on what she said, "Well, maybe that's it then, yes? I knew there had to be a reason for him to look at you so and now we know."

Ffion was frowning at him, forgetting her embarrassment, and leaning forward again.

"What do you mean, Zev?" She quizzed, "Who are you talking about?"

The Elf didn't have a chance to answer. Tilly was growling furiously and Zevran vaulted from the ground, tackling Ffion as arrows rained down around them. The Mabari was standing at attention, not about to back down from this threat; nevermind that there wasn't anything tangible to attack. Her lady was stunned for a moment and then pushed at Zevran so she could get a breath.

"Anytime, people!" She shouted and the Elf was rolling clear so that they could get their bearings.

The others came pouring from their tents, including Oghren; and Sten, Alistair, and Leliana were prepared for the fight. Instantly, they dropped to the ground as the arrows intensified and it was Alistair who solved that problem.

"The fire!" He shouted, "Morrigan, douse the fire!"

The witch didn't hesitate. Her staff erupted with power and the fire was drowned in a sudden, mini flash flood. The arrows ceased, but the summit was so quiet that they could hear the curses of the Dwarves across the track, hidden in those trees that Ffion and Zevran had studied. Ffion let out a breath, blinking in the dark and waiting for her eyes to adjust. She heard Zevran shift next to her and a moment later his voice was right in her ear.

"We cannot stay like this all night."

She shook her head.

"No, but now what?"

There was a hoarse grunt not far off from them and they froze, but it was Sten that was making his way towards them. He dropped the dead Dwarf that had been creeping in and his deep voice was directed at Ffion.

"They are starting to converge, Ffion," He was whispering and they could just barely make out his profile as he studied the track, "My vision is not what it once was, but I can see enough to tell that they are moving this way."

Tilly's growl confirmed this and Ffion nodded.

"Fabulous," She muttered, "Is it just a small group or do you think all of them are headed in?"

"I believe it is all," The Qunari's voice was quieter, "They have to know that we are nine strong and they will not take any chances."

Zevran had slipped away while they talked and now he returned with the others in tow. He was shifting around and they could hear the soft _clinks_ of the hardware on his belt while he dug for something useful.

"Magic is worthless against the Dwarves, yes?" He was whispering, "But my tricks should work. Sten, tell me when you can see them reaching the bottleneck there from the path."

The Elf was moving some distance away, getting his bearings, and knowing exactly how far he was from the bottleneck himself.

"And the rest of us will get ready to attack," Alistair picked up on what the Elf was thinking and he loosed his blade, his eyes adjusted enough to be able to see the Qunari's hulking shape.

Sten was watching the path and his own hands tightened around that massive sword. Morrigan and Wynne were in position a couple of paces behind Ffion, Tilly, and Oghren, and Leliana moved to stand on the opposite side of Alistair. The Qunari held up one hand and then dropped it, his deep voice raising in a shout,

"Now!"

Zevran tossed one of his little 'tricks' and the explosion rocked even their party as it took out half the Dwarves making for the camp. Morrigan and Wynne had the same idea and they both started fires at the bottleneck so the others could see what they were doing as they surged forward. Tilly and Ffion were joined by Zevran as they weaved their way through the Dwarves and began to hack away from behind. Alistair, Sten, and Oghren drew the heavy fire and Leliana's bow didn't miss. The troop of Dwarves had originally been about 20 strong and Ffion's party worked so well together that the ten who survived Zevran's blast had little chance to gain the upper hand. Sten took out the last one and they retreated to their camp to go over the damage. They half expected another onslaught of arrows, but nothing else came and Wynne was able to see to the few wounds they had acquired. Tilly, Alistair, Wynne, and Leliana were unscathed; Morrigan had taken an arrow to her shoulder and Sten was bleeding from an axe wound to the thigh. Oghren somehow managed to smash his nose; a knife had gone through Zevran's hand, and Ffion's back was aching from the Elf's tackle.

"Well, so much for my prediction, yes?" Zevran observed with a grin at Ffion as Wynne saw to the knife wound.

"Yeah, well, at least there's no uncertainty about it now," She answered, "I hated to think of them just watching us."

"What's this?" Alistair was perched beside Wynne, frowning at his fellow Warden and trying to ignore the fact that all he could think about was how soft her lips had been, "What are you two talking about?"

Ffion told them all about hearing the sounds and deciding that it would be useless to try and track them down in the dark. Zevran only interrupted her once or twice and when they had finished, Morrigan leveled her eyes on them.

"And what was the reasoning behind not informing us?"

"Wha's the use?" Oghren was yawning as he stretched to his feet and headed for his tent, "Tha' Qunari o' ours proved his worth and we don' have anythin' else to worry 'bout. G'night, wake me when there's a serious threat."

The others were following suit and Alistair was glancing at Ffion as he stood.

"You want me to take over now?" He asked, "I don't mind if you want to go to bed."

Ffion shook her head and her eyes seemed to be drawn to Zevran. The Elf was grinning at her and he winked rather jauntily before ducking out of view into his tent. She frowned and then realized that Alistair was still looking at her expectantly.

"No, thanks, Alistair, but I'll be fine," She answered, "I'll wake you in a bit."

The ex-Templar wished her a 'good night' and then left her to sit and wonder at the meaning of Zevran's words.


	46. Chapter 46

**A/N:** I got a fairly good sunburn yesterday, in April which is so great, and I plan on spending more time outside today. And, yes, I am a little bit crazy about this. Nice sunny weather in April is a rarity here. Anyway, enough about me ;-D back to Ffion & Co. Enjoy!

* * *

Halfway through their third day on the road as they continued down the summit, Morrigan fell in beside Ffion and said in a soft voice,

"We must speak."

The Warden frowned at the witch, wondering what this could be about. Morrigan looked rather haggered and very concerned and Ffion's frown deepened. The witch was the one that was least likely to be touched by any of the events that had occurred and to see her gold eyes look so uncertain and worried hit a nerve with the Warden.

"Alright, Morrigan," She answered, "Tonight then, we'll get together and you can tell me what's been troubling you."

Morrigan inclined her head, her raven hair slipping from its usual thick knot. Her eyes were relieved and she parted her lips to reply when Syd picked up his head curiously and Tilly growled. At Ffion's quick gesture, the company came to a halt and around the bend in the path ahead of them, a group of soldiers appeared. They were holding their hands up to show that they meant no harm and Alistair was the first one to recognize the armor.

"They're Teagan's!" He breathed in relief and then stepped forward, "What news?"

The captain of the band slipped from his mount, a horse that, though thin, whinnied with delight at the scent of Syd. Sten was holding their little donkey firmly as the soldier bowed, his hands still loose so they wouldn't do anything drastic.

"Wardens, the Bann sends word," He greeted, "If I may?"

He was gesturing to the horse's pack and Ffion couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"Listen, captain, time is kind of of the essence here," She replied sharply, "Just… let us know what's going on so we can make a decision."

The captain was surprised at her tone, but he turned back to the horse and pulled a little folder from the pack. He handed this over to Ffion and then clasped his hands behind him.

"My lord Bann wished for you to follow this lead," He said as the Warden opened the folder and studied the neat, rather cramped script, "The Brother Genitivi has been investigating the village of Haven, which is not far from here, but lately, no one has had word from him."

Alistair was leaning to look at the papers over Ffion's shoulder.

"It looks like he believed that was the last step," He observed. A loose paper slipped from the leather folder and he caught it, spreading it open to reveal a fairly new, recently copied map, "The village of Haven… The captain's right, Ffion, it's not far at all from here. I'd say two, two and a half days at the most. It's up the Frostbacks again, but after Orzammar that shouldn't be too much trouble."

It was Ffion's turn to lean over him and then she sighed, slapping the folder closed, and pulling on a loose curl absentmindedly. She didn't wait for any fireworks and instead gave the captain a nod.

"Alright, let the Bann know that we will investigate this and get back to him as soon as we can," She said.

The captain, relief spreading across his face, gave the party a bow and swung back up into the saddle. He put one fist over his heart and met Ffion's gaze.

"Maker go with you, Wardens, and bless you for your help."

He signaled to his men and they wheeled about, trotting back down the path. Ffion put one hand on Alistair's wrist to keep him from folding the map and instead studied it briefly. She got her bearings after a moment and for the first time, was pleased that she had had enough discipline to make herself learn how to read a map with accuracy.

"Alright," She murmured, glancing around them at their surroundings, and then going on, "That has to be the little path that confused us on our way up here… Yeah, I don't think it could be anything but that."

"And that should be coming up here anytime," Alistair agreed.

They tucked the map into the folder and Ffion secured this in her little pack before they continued on their way. No one posed any arguments until they reached that rather neglected path and made the turn to hike up the Frostbacks once more. Sten came to a complete stop, almost dropping Syd's lead and staring hard at Ffion. Oghren, following along with the Qunari, was the one that made everyone else stop short.

"C'mon, horn 'ead," The Dwarf growled, "Ge' a move on."

Sten was ignoring that comment, not wanting to get into the argument again. Oghren _would_ refuse to believe that not all Qunari had horns. His violet eyes were on Ffion and when she glanced back to see what the trouble was, he spoke before she could,

"So is your plan to keep heading west until we make a complete circle of the world and reach Denerim in time to watch it burn?"

The Warden blinked, not looking away from him.

"Sten, we don't have much choice," She replied finally, her frown deepening as his eyes flashed dangerously, "We need the Arl and, as far fetched as this is, there is no harm in just checking."

"And checking will turn into promising, and promising into facing off with foes that have nothing to do with the Blight," Sten was clearly unimpressed and he wasn't going to back down easily on this one either, "And this is not why I am here, following you."

Ffion let out a frustrated sigh and shifted to her other foot, turning so she could look at him full on.

"You promised me your blade, no matter what," She snapped and her words carried much more weight than anything he could come up with, "I need your help here, Sten, not more adversity. Are you going to have a problem keeping your promise?"

She was trying desperately to keep her temper in check and she saw that she was actually on the right track here. The Qunari's eyes were flickering with uncertainty, though the respect that had been growing after the past two weeks was now disappearing. His lips parted to answer and then pressed closed again. He gave her a single, solemn nod and then dropped Syd's lead.

"Very well, prove to me I am making the right choice here," He told her and one hand went back for his sword.

Tilly's hackles were up, Oghren was watching everything with amusement, and Morrigan and Leliana were almost there as well. The Orlesian knew that Sten would never hurt Ffion and so could see how ridiculous this all was; and Morrigan was waiting for one or the other to be put in their place. Zevran, Alistair, and Wynne were the only ones to share the Mabari's concern and they instantly moved to step in. Wynne was approaching Sten, Alistair was pushing Ffion behind him, while Zevran positioned himself in the middle of it all.

"What?" Ffion was incredulous, pushing Alistair in return, as her frown deepened, "What the hell are you talking about?"

The Qunari had his broad sword in his hands now, but hadn't taken any further steps.

"It is the noble thing to do," He answered, "We are at an impasse and my honor demands that we duel. The winner has the last say."

Ffion's brows arched up and she almost laughed, it sounded so ridiculous. Her hand was still on Alistair's shoulder and she let it slip away as she drew herself up and met Sten glare for glare; making a valiant effort to hide her amusement.

"The only thing I really _have_ to say to you is Lothering," She replied and knew that this simpler tactic would work the best with the Qunari, "You owe me, Sten, and I don't have to prove anything else to you. If you want to go back on your promise, damage your honor even more, and live with that, be my guest. I'll even let you take Syd… but we get the packs. It's your choice and you'll have to decide now, I'm not going to wait around and argue with you; time is pretty crucial, you know."

She turned and continued up the path, Tilly falling behind her. Alistair spared a particularly dirty look for the Qunari and trailed them. As the others moved to follow, Zevran glanced up at Sten, Oghren pausing beside them. The Qunari was reluctantly sliding his blade away, his violet eyes blazing as they followed their little Warden up the path. He was clearly not in the mood to be trifled with, but that had never stopped Zevran before.

"Remember what I said about a woman's curiousity, my Qunari friend?" The Elf quizzed, "It is even worse to argue with them and now you see my reasoning, yes? Give the dove a chance and do not make this a competition. You won't win."

* * *

"Alright, Morrigan, you wanted to talk to me?" Ffion, her cloak snugged around her, settled on the ground as close to the flames as she could get, and welcomed Tilly's heavy weight next to her.

The witch paused for a moment and then gracefully dropped cross-legged across from her. Her slender fingers were clasped tightly and her bun wasn't nearly as immaculate as it had been. She let out a small breath that was nothing but a brief cloud of white in the icy air and was visibly nervous for one of maybe two times since Ffion met her.

"Yes, I have been studying the grimoire that you gave me and I must say, 'tis most… interesting."

Ffion cocked her head, studying Morrigan's face in the flickering firelight.

"Interesting?" She repeated, "You don't mean it quite that way."

"No, no I do not," Morrigan was looking into the flames and it took her some time before she went on, "What you gave me was not what I believed it to be. It is not Flemeth's collection of spells, as I hoped, instead 'tis a kind of journal. Through this, I have discovered how she has remained young, living as long as she has been."

"So Alistair was right then?" Ffion couldn't help but tease, blurting the very first thing that popped into her head, "She boils little children and uses their youth to restore hers?"

Morrigan snorted, looking more like herself for a moment before lifting her shoulders a little and replying,

"He is closer to the truth than I would have believed him to be," She said the words with a look of disgust, as though they even tasted bad, "All the tales claim that Flemeth has had many daughters, daughters that disappear when they reach a certain age, and propagate the legend of the Witch of the Wilds. That journal has corrected my thinking on this subject. I believe now that _I_ am her only true daughter and the rest were merely… victims."

Ffion was frowning at the witch, not able to see where this was heading.

"I don't understand, Morrigan," She said, "What do you mean 'victims?'"

"Through the years, if that journal is to be believed, Flemeth has found beautiful young women to adopt as her own. When the time is right, when age starts to take hold, she uses her magic; a very old magic, and takes over the woman's body as her own. This is why she has lived for so long… and why all of these 'daughters' seem to disappear. She becomes them."

The Warden could feel her eyebrows inching up, but she didn't look away from Morrigan. This was more than a little far-fetched, but having met Flemeth and knowing the witch was the reason she, Alistair, and Tilly were still alive, helped to substantiate Morrigan's point.

"But that would mean…"

"I am her next victim," Morrigan looked genuinely frightened and her fingers were knitted together tightly, "'Twill not be born. I will not sit about like an empty sack waiting to be filled."

Ffion shook her head, holding up one hand as she tried to get her mind wrapped around this.

"Just… wait a minute, Morrigan," She said firmly, "If this is what Flemeth has planned, why would she let you go? What guarantee did she have that you would return home to her?"

"This is why I had to speak with you," Morrigan was _almost_ hesitant, "I know Flemeth's determination; she will not let me rest easy. I feel that this was my last test and that she is watching closely. The only remedy to this would come about with her death and I wish to ask for your help."

"Whoa, whoa, just hang on a second," The Warden's hand went up and her grey eyes were incredulous, "Flemeth's death? Morrigan, you can't expect-"

"How is this different from anything else you have been promising and seeing through?" The witch had clearly anticipated Ffion's arguments and wasn't about to give her the upper hand here, "And if you are worried about the traveling, you need not be. Mother said so herself. That swamp will be overrun by Darkspawn and she will be on the move. I am in need, Ffion, and I came to you because I know you will weigh each option carefully and then-"

"And then do it anyway?" Ffion was the one to interrupt this time and she arched her brows again, though it was moreso in amusement, "How can you be so sure that she won't be south of Lothering anymore? Come to think of it, how do we know that she's even still alive?"

Morrigan snorted and was back to their cool, composed, and utterly superior witch. She was sitting straight, her gold eyes becoming scornful, and the heavy cloak went ignored as it slipped from her shoulders.

"Darkspawn killing off the great and fearsome Flemeth?" She questioned, "They would have had to be incredibly lucky to accomplish this. I know that she has been watching me and am surprised that you would believe she would let you go without some sort of stipulation: known or unknown. Please, Ffion, I am asking you out of… desperation, really. We will be traveling from Redcliffe to the Brecilian Forest by the road, I am sure, and that means we will pass right by what remains of Lothering. Flemeth will not be far from there, I could almost promise you."

Ffion let out a breath, not able to hide her smile. She was giving Tilly a pat and wishing that she didn't feel so compelled to help the witch. But Morrigan, in spite of her snide comments and poisonous sarcasm, had followed Ffion in all of her decisions, and her support in the Deep Roads was not something to be taken lightly and then forgotten. So she found herself giving the witch a nod.

"Almost," She repeated, "Therein lies the catch… Though, like I told Harrowmont, there's always a catch. Okay, Morrigan, when we head to the Brecilian Forest, we'll try and track down your mother so that you-"

"No, _you_, and you alone," The witch interrupted and went on before Ffion could say anything else, "Flemeth must be killed and her real grimoire taken if I am to be safe from any further ties to her magic or lingering aspects of her power. And if I were to accompany you, none of this will come about; everything would be ruined. I cannot go with you, Ffion, 'tis up to you."

"Naturally," The Warden's voice was very dry, "Alright, you have my word. Now get to bed, we have more ground to cover tomorrow."

* * *

Alistair was sort of right about this being similar to Orzammar. He only missed the fact that the path to Haven was about twice as bad. The track was narrow and very steep, making Tilly and Syd both nervous. Wynne wasn't a fan of the height either and in a few spots, where they had to follow a precipice and the rocks and trees fell away completely, she almost couldn't make it. Alistair and Zevran both stepped in to help out and they were able to press on. It wouldn't have been so difficult if they hadn't had to deal with snow and ice practically the whole way. The cold was worse than it had been around the Dwarven city as well and the air was much thinner. Camping the second night was miserable and the whole party was becoming short with one another by the time they reached the last little track and saw the roofs of the village. There was a guard lounging at the top of this incline and he was first shocked and then annoyed as they approached. Ffion summoned up a smile for him, but he spoke before she could.

"What's this?" He demanded, "What are you doing in Haven?"

The Warden blinked, her smile disappearing. She studied the guard briefly and felt her own annoyance spiking.

"We're looking for Brother Genitivi, not that it's any of your business," She answered coldly, "Where would I find him?"

"Never heard of him," The guard waved dismissively back the way they had come, his armor glinting in the rather watery sunlight, "We don't want visitors. You lot can go right back where you came from."

Ffion drew herself up, forgetting the biting cold and the shivering, sleepless nights. Her grey eyes fixed on the man and her lips parted to snap back at him. She was not in the mood to argue with a mere guard and she was short enough on patience that her blades were calling to her.

"Where is your Chantry, ser?" Wynne's voice was gentle but steely as she cut in, stepping next to Ffion and preventing the Warden from speaking her mind, "We wish to restock and perhaps speak with the lay sisters."

"Use the store for restocking, our revered father is giving a blessing and-"

"Oh, that would be lovely to hear," It was Leliana this time and she put a warning hand on Ffion's arm briefly before adding, "We have come all this way without hearing a blessing. Please, may we go up and listen?"

Zevran was shaking his head minutely at both Oghren and Alistair as they opened their mouths to add their own two bits. Sten shifted restlessly, but could tell that the women were making headway using these spiritual arguments and kept his threats to himself. Ffion, too, could now see that Leliana and Wynne had read the situation perfectly. The guard was not merely being impolite, he was hiding something vital, and the Orlesian's play (or perhaps not a play) at religious zeal was working. He studied her briefly and could see nothing but a desire to worship. Reluctantly, he nodded his head.

"Very well," He said gruffly, "Up the hill there, but after that, you're done. The guards up there will send you back."

"Of course, thank you very much," Leliana was dimpling at the guard, looking pleased and content, "Andraste bless you for your kindness."

They skirted him and entered the little courtyard. There were simple wooden cottages and buildings with thatched roofs, they could hear the soft lowing of cattle and the scratchings and cooings of chickens and doves. Only a handful of people were visible here and they watched the party suspiciously as they headed up the next path and to the second courtyard.

"Revered father, huh?" Alistair was saying softly when it was clear no one would hear him.

"It's not so unusual," Wynne was forever the teacher, "A small, isolated village such as this… It makes sense that they would cling to the older practices. What concerns me more is the secrecy here. We have Genitivi's own writings, saying that this is where he was headed. Do you think that he never arrived?"

"One way t'find out," Oghren was clearly ready for a fight.

Ffion sent him a little smile.

"Easy, Oghren," She replied, "Don't get too excited just yet. Let's just find out what's going on here."

Leliana was studying the pretty little Chantry as they approached and her blue eyes were speculative.

"I think he was here," She said softly, "They are hiding something and I believe it concerns the Brother."

They walked up the few steps to where the door stood unguarded and entered the Chantry without opposition. That second courtyard had been empty of people and the only buildings were the Chantry and one rather extravagant home; which was no doubt the revered father's. The emptiness was probably a good thing, too. Within the Chantry, there was a group of about a dozen: a mixture of what looked like village elders, four more guards, and a middle aged man who was extending one hand to those gathered, his greying head lowered as he spoke the blessing. Oghren, holding the door open for Sten whom Syd reluctantly let go, allowed it to slam shut and made the group jump and look at them in surprise. The revered father's eyes narrowed as he straightened himself and studied Ffion's party coolly.

"What is the meaning of this?" He demanded and raised one hand to his guards without giving a thought to how drastic it looked.

"We have come to he-"

"We've come to find out what you've done with Brother Genitivi," Ffion interrupted Leliana smoothly, stepping forward and dismissing the elders and guards. Her gaze was fixed on the revered father and she wasn't willing to beat around the bush anymore, "We know he ventured here in his quest and we need him."

The father was drawing himself up, his gaze becoming ice.

"You have no business here," His deep voice was fierce and Oghren was justified in pulling loose that huge battleaxe, "Where is Garreth? Why did he allow you entry?"

Wynne was trying to mend the damage that Ffion had caused, but it was obvious this situation was unraveling fast.

"Please, ser, we merely wished-"

"You wished to cause a disturbance and you have," He interrupted, "I will not listen to more."

Without a word from him, the guards were advancing with the elders in tow, and he himself pulled the finely carved staff from his back. Tilly jumped in front of her lady as two of the elders faced off with her and Alistair was whirling to protect her back. Sten and Oghren were the targets that most of the people went for, while the father stood back and tried to command the room with his spells. Which Morrigan and Leliana were quick to prevent. Save for the four guards, none of the others were wearing armor and the fight was not difficult. The father went down without an attempt at surrender and Zevran immediately began prowling the room, studying the walls and shelves as Leliana and Morrigan went through the fallen bodies. Sten and Oghren turned to the door, half expecting the fight to have been heard, while Ffion searched through the father's robes and lifted a heavy medallion from his neck to study it. Zevran's soft exhalation was followed by a light _click_ and Wynne was crossing the room to him.

A section of brick was sliding away, slipping into the wall as though it was a pocket. Ffion stood from her crouch, flipping one of her knives into her palm. Alistair and Tilly were beside her as she followed Wynne.

"It seems they did have something to hide," The Enchanter murmured.

Sten and Oghren left the doors, locking them, and joined Morrigan and Leliana as they all crowded the entry to this new room. It was cluttered with bookcases and chests, the rugs were threadbare, and there was a layer of dust that led them to believe it was seldom used. Ffion was the first to step in completely. The bookshelf in front of her was hiding the rest of the room and when she rounded this, the flickering of torchlight illuminated the prone figure on a rather grimy bedroll.

"Wynne," The Warden said swiftly.

She dropped to her knees beside the man and felt for a pulse in his neck. His face was pale and gaunt; the thinning hair was almost black and a scruff of beard covered his chin and neck. His body was lanky and he would have been quite tall, as long as what looked like a badly broken leg didn't ruin this. There was a weak throb of a pulse and he moaned softly when he felt Ffion's fingers.

Wynne was casting the healing spell over him and Ffion felt the heart beat drum a little bit stronger. The leg seemed to right itself some and the man moaned again, this time more loudly.

"'Ere, boss," Oghren was crouching beside Ffion as their patient's eyelids fluttered. The Dwarf was extending his flask, "One sip o' this an' he'll wanna take on yer Archdemon."

"Barehanded, yes?" Zevran was riffling through one of the chests that he had picked with ease.

"An' on his own," Oghren was sparing the Elf a quick grin as he took the flask again.

The man on the ground began coughing, his brown eyes coming open. They locked on Ffion and he was instantly raising his thin hands as though to ward off a blow. The Warden reached out and gently took them in her own, lowering them so she could look into his face.

"Brother Genitivi?" She questioned quietly and then smiled as he nodded, "It's alright, you're safe now. How's the leg?"

He glanced around at them all rather wildly and then began to relax as none of them tried to harm him. He looked back at Ffion with absolute trust in his eyes and then flexed his foot. The smile that broke his face was wan, but it made his brown eyes light with warmth.

"Better," He croaked and tried to clear his throat, "I… much better."

Leliana was materializing at Ffion's elbow with a glass of clear water and the Warden slipped one arm around the brother's shoulders to help him sit up. He clung tightly to her, but was able to sit on his own once she had him up. He gulped the water down gratefully and, when he looked at each of them again, he took time to study them.

"What was that?" He asked Ffion, "That… grog you gave me at first?"

The chuckle rumbled through Oghren's chest and his green eyes were dancing.

"Makes ya feel like a man, don' it?" He offered with a wicked grin.

"Ah, liquid courage," Genitivi was still flexing his leg, looking down at it in wonder, "What-"

"You don't want to know what's in it, trust me," Alistair interrupted him and winced as Oghren thumped him on the back with a laugh.

Ffion was studying the brother as Tilly sniffed around him almost questioningly.

"Lady Isolde told us that she was funding your research into the Urn of Sacred Ashes," She said, getting them back on track, "But that was before the Arl's illness, correct?"

The brother blinked at her, accepting the second cup of water from Leliana. His brown eyes were instantly concerned.

"The Arl is sick? No - I mean, yes - she contacted me before… I had no idea," He studied Ffion's face and gave a nod, "The Ashes, that's why you're here. The Arlessa knows the Ashes could cure him. I have come so close! The temple is just up the mount, but…" His voice trailed off as his already large eyes grew wide in that pale face, "Eirik and all the rest! How did you… They will-"

"Rest easy, brother," Leliana's voice was soothing, "They will not be able to harm you or anyone else ever again."

"They preferred fighting to answering questions," Morrigan leaned against one of the bookshelves, her voice cool and calm, "And we obliged."

The brother welcomed Wynne's offer of food with thanks and did an incredible job of ignoring Tilly as she perched on her haunches, watching him expectantly. He spoke with Morrigan's same collected calm.

"This is why it was always my contention that those within the Chantry travel when they could," He spoke around bites, his appetite understandably ravenous, "It does no one any good to sit and brood in a dark chapel with nothing but their own morose thoughts for company."

"So you must ask yourself why you want to join in the first place," Sten's deep voice was biting.

Ffion shook her head at him, sparing Zevran a quick glance as one of his lockpicks broke in another chest and he let out a sharp curse. He went back to work and she turned her attention to Genitivi. The brother was looking up at Sten with something akin to pity and she cut in before they could start on that. Now was not the time for a debate on spirituality.

"You're right," She said, "The Arlessa does believe the Ashes will cure him. And you said you were close? So, this is accurate?"

She was pulling loose the folder from the little pack slung about her waist. Genitivi's face lit up, his brown eyes glowing as he reached for his worn folder. He let it fall open across his legs and he riffled through the pages for a moment before looking back up at Ffion with a broad smile.

"Yes, it's accurate," He answered and his fingers were pressing the papers almost reverently, "Thank you, a million times over, thank you, for returning this to me. I tracked the Urn here, but they were less than receptive of my asking questions. When I pushed, they pushed back. I've lost count of the days that I've been here, but I cannot tell you how frustrating it has been, knowing that the temple is right _there_ and being unable to investigate it."

Ffion was smiling at him again, her eyes challenging and more than ready for this task.

"That's where we come in," She said simply, "You said the temple is further up the mountain? So, we won't have to go back to the village?"

"We shouldn't have to," He frowned, "They let you in without opposition?"

"We merely told your charming guard we had a wish to hear a blessing," Zevran was returning to their little huddle, the pockets in his belt more full than usual, "Lovely Leliana was a very distracting foe."

Genitivi glanced at the redheaded bard with a small smile as she scoffed.

"You lied," He clarified.

"We found you, so it evens out," Alistair cut in, putting one hand to the brother's elbow as he tried to get his feet under him, "Are you sure you're ready to-"

"I've waited long enough," He interrupted, but still needed both the Wardens' help in standing, "Eirik will have the key to the temple on him. That was how I knew I was so close. Most think it's merely a medallion, but I've studied enough to know the truth."

"Medallion?" Ffion repeated and lifted the medallion she had taken, "You mean this one? I thought there was more to it."

"That's it," The brother's voice was stronger and though he was still leaning on Alistair, it wasn't nearly as much as before, "Come, the temple door is not far."


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N:** All right, here's the next chapter. And as per usual, I played with the story a bit because... fan fiction is meant for that. So there's a few little changes and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

They entered the main room, where the bodies were still sprawled, and fitted Genitivi with a heavy wool cloak, knives, and a short sword. Leliana also found a fur cap that she handed over as Ffion made introductions. They left the Chantry as easily as they had entered it, Sten locking the doors again with a key lifted from one of the guards, buying them a little extra time in case it was needed. Genitivi, still walking with Alistair's assistance; Ffion close by in case she was needed, led the way around one corner of the building and towards a small path. It was cleverly concealed by bushes and there was a pile of neatly stacked firewood they had to maneuver around in single file to start up the mountainside once more. The brother was right though, it wasn't far and soon, they were climbing rough stone steps that were clearly natural formations, to a smooth facade of stone that had an odd little indentation in its surface. Genitivi straightened from Alistair's support and glanced at Ffion.

"May I see that key?" He questioned.

The Warden handed it over and they all watched he pressed the indentation expertly, revealing a bizarre looking keyhole. Turning his attention to the medallion, he clasped it with both hands and must have hit little pressure points, as the thing sprang open, taking on the same shape as the keyhole. He inserted it and a moment later, they were pushing open the door to a vast chamber. Within, the ceilings skyrocketed over them, icicles had formed from the stalactites and the smallest of these were three times the girth of Sten, but nearly all had reached the ice covered floor. There were a few openings in the stone ceiling that had allowed snow to fall inward and the mounds were piled enormously high against the walls, spreading down in small avalanches that made their footing rather precarious.

Genitivi was leading the way, looking around in awe at the enormity of it all and wanting to get closer to some of the carvings that were steadily getting buried by the ice and snow. It was Sten who heard the crackling of fire and soft murmur of voices.

"Hold," His deep voice was rather like a rumble and it brought Ffion up short. Alistair was grabbing at Genitivi to hold him steady, "There is someone else here."

They proceeded cautiously, moving around another pile of snow and coming in clear view of a massive bonfire and the half dozen figures that were gathered around it. The fire was in a pit at the base of a wide staircase and Ffion's party could see the outline of a second set of steps and double doors through the smoke that was creeping out of one of the openings above. The group around the fire saw them at the same time and shouted the warning. Instantly, a door that was unseen at first opened off to the right, admitting another small troop. They all charged at Ffion's company and Alistair was pushing Genitivi back as the rest crowded up between the brother and these foes. The fight was intense but short. Once more, only a few of the enemies wore any armor and seemed to depend solely on the five mages to command the battlefield. Leliana hadn't given them that chance and they were crowding the fire, drawing in its warmth, and making a plan of attack within moments of the fight ending. Oghren had volunteered to make a sweep through the hall where the additional forces had emerged and Zevran accompanied him. It hadn't taken them long and they were returning in no time, the Elf handing Ffion a heavy ring of keys as Genitivi offered the solution to what was the most pressing problem.

"I am no good to you with this leg," He was saying, "And even if it hadn't been broken, I'm no fighter. I'll remain here with your donkey, if you want to leave him, and make notes on what I find. If I hear any other enemies coming… well, I'm sure there are places to hide us both."

"There is a closet in the closest room, in fact," Zevran answered and picked the keys from his Warden again. He removed a delicately crafted silver one and gave it to the brother, "It should just fit you and our loyal Syd."

Ffion had finished preparing herself for the task at hand and she was meeting Genitivi's gaze.

"Is there anything special that we need to know about these people?" She asked, "Will they always attack or do we have a chance at compromise?"

"They are a rather fanatical cult who believe that their calling is to protect the Ashes from any prying eyes," Genitivi was having a hard time keeping his own eyes solely on the Warden; he badly wanted to study the hall in depth, "And I don't believe any will be willing to surrender. They won't understand that you are here to help another, that you have no plans to disturb the Ashes…" His gaze suddenly leveled on her in complete seriousness, "Which you don't, right? Your heart must be pure if you mean to reach the Urn, if not… Well, let's just say that this temple was designed to keep those with ill intentions from ever getting close."

"You mean traps?" Wynne clarified.

"Indeed," The brother nodded, "I can't tell you for sure what you will find, but watch your asses, if you'll excuse my crudeness."

Ffion was chuckling as Oghren and Zevran laughed in delight.

"We will," She promised and then added on a more serious note because she felt she had to, "I only want to help the Arl. As far-fetched as this sounds… I have to try; there's that hope that it will work."

"Of course she does," Morrigan couldn't seem to help but add her two bits.

Genitivi wasn't listening to the witch; instead he was inclining his head again, his brown eyes pleased.

"You'll be alright, Ffion. And all the works I have read, any of the studies over the past years, have all suggested that the temple is at the top of the mount. So whatever you find in this fortress, just remember to keep climbing up," He said and took Syd's lead in one hand, "Andraste guide you."

"And you as well," Leliana replied with a dimpling smile.

They left the warmth of the fire as the brother pulled Syd's food bag out and distracted him from Sten's leaving. The party moved up the steps carefully as the ice had crept in even this far and reached the second stone landing. There was a single door off to the left, partially hidden in the shadows, and there had once been one directly opposite, but a cave-in had done away with it some time ago. The double doors were set in the center of the wall ahead and in the middle of the landing was a wide, bowl-shaped fire pit, laid in readiness for a flint.

Ffion approached this and tugged out her flint. The landing was so dark that it would be nice to see what they were doing as they tried to unlock the double doors. Leliana stepped with her and was putting one hand on the Warden's arm.

"Here, Ffion," She said, handing over a long taper, "Everything within this temple is related to Andraste, no? Then to light this fire, I believe you should use this instead."

Ffion eyed the unimpressive taper, doubting that it would do much good, and then shrugged her shoulders.

"Sure," She replied and took the taper in her fingers, "Of all of us, you would know what's best here."

She ignited the taper instead and set it to the fire pit. In a blink of an eye, the flames swept through the bowl, snapping and crackling at the wood, and burning with a bluish-white fire that was eerily pretty. The landing was lit with the clear light of the flames and the warmth began to seep through the frigid air like a sigh of relief. Leliana let out a soft breath and smiled at the company.

"There, the brother will be safe," She said and the surety of her words made them frown at her.

"What do you mean?" Alistair quizzed, his head cocking a little as he studied the Orlesian, "How can you be sure?"

"Can't you feel it?" She replied and opened her arms a little. Her copper head inclined to the fire, "That is Andraste's flame; it is meant to protect and it has changed the air here. Brother Genitivi will have nothing to worry about now."

Morrigan was rolling her eyes and Sten grumbling under his breath. Zevran lifted his shoulders at Ffion who was looking at the Orlesian speculatively.

"The air feels warmer," Alistair was conceding, "But with a fire lighted, that kind of makes sense, right?"

Ffion was ignoring the sarcasm in the ex-Templar's voice and the way Oghren was chuckling. She and Wynne, who had stepped beside her, exchanged glances. Tilly whined softly and pushed against her lady's hand, ready to go.

"Of course Genitivi will be fine," The Warden finally offered, "Now, let's move on. We have no idea how extensive this place is, so the sooner the better."

Zevran went to the doors, already jangling the keys in one hand. As usual, he could read the lock expertly and picked the right key on the first try. The doors jumped out at them a little and they entered another hall, this one on a much smaller scale. Its walls were stone slabs and there were no openings in the ceiling here. A set of stairs led up across from them and the landing ran along both sides of the hall as well as right to the next door. The party was halfway across the room when the door opened and a mage stepped to the edge of the stairs. He didn't say a word and instead gathered his power to him and thrust his staff into the air. There was a series of pops and hisses and a dozen flaming abominations erupted from the stone to gather around the party. Leliana's bow whipped out and she was firing at the mage, but the arrows fell harmlessly away, bouncing off the shield of energy that he had conjured around himself.

"Ice, Wynne!" Morrigan shouted at the Enchanter and then bolted for the steps.

The witch was ducking around the abominations, trusting Leliana to cover her (which she did) and when her foot touched the bottom stair, she disappeared. In her place was a massive spider that darted up to overtake the mage with a horrifying speed. The rest of the party was falling back, letting Wynne conjure an ice storm, and Alistair was the one that drew the abominations together at the bottom of the stairs. They followed him and didn't stand a chance in the Enchanter's onslaught of water and ice. Leliana took out the last one and the ex-Templar hardly realized how close the monster had come; he was too busy gaping at Morrigan as the witch, herself once more, leaned on her staff at the top of the steps.

"You want to explain why you haven't used that before?" Alistair questioned, feeling the tug of the taint as Ffion passed by him and headed up the steps.

"She has," The Warden replied simply, her grey eyes on Morrigan, "How do you think she was able to sneak up on us so easily that day in the Wilds? Tilly knew that that wasn't just a swarm of bugs; it's hard to get one by a Mabari."

"A fact that I have not forgotten," The witch's voice was tired, but her color was looking better, "She is a remarkably… observant animal."

Tilly let out a pleased _woof_ as they reached Morrigan and Wynne was handing her a potion bottle, the contents of which made her look a little more like herself.

"Shapeshifter, huh?" Oghren surprised them all by knowing what Morrigan's talent was and then brought them back to reality, "Tha's excitin'… in the righ' way."

The witch was looking at him so coldly it was a wonder that he didn't turn to ice, and then she shifted her attention. She didn't have to explain her tactics, but she felt she owed it to Ffion at least.

"This coward would have had to release his shield to attack me while I was in that form," She said, consciously treading on the mage's fingers as they walked to the next door, "And nothing any of you could have done would have taken him out. I was doing what was necessary."

"Nice to know we could have had that in the Deep Roads," Alistair's tone was more than a little bitter and his honey eyes were hard.

"Please, don't," Ffion cut in before Morrigan could retaliate, "No reminiscing about the Deep Roads for a while."

"At leas' not 'til we can get good an' drunk," Oghren agreed.

Ffion mentally cursed her blushing cheeks and then forgot them as Zevran stepped to the door and Alistair was saying quickly,

"Right, but now's not the time. Later, yeah?"

Leliana wasn't quick enough to stifle her giggle as Ffion frowned at the ex-Templar. She glanced between him and Zevran, her lips parting, and then Sten was pushing forward.

"This is nonsense," The Qunari's deep voice was short, "And taking up time. Let's move on."

The Elf had opened up the door and they found themselves in a wide, circular room with two hallways leading off opposite each other. There was a little raised dais ahead of them and the curved wall held idols and torches that flickered with the opening of the doors. Ffion glanced between the halls and could see the far wall at the end both of them.

"I think these will lead to the same place," She said softly, still uncertain, "I guess we'll just have to try and see what happens, yeah?"

"We don't really have any other choice," Wynne agreed.

The Warden chose the right hand hall and as they crossed to it, there was a familiar _crack_ and the room filled with an acrid smelling smoke. An ash wraith dove at them and Sten bore the full brunt of the attack. It knocked the Qunari back into Oghren and they simultaneously cursed as they tried to untangle from one another. Morrigan and Wynne were quick to step in while the others were busy with the cultists that poured from both ends of the hallway. The smoke was clearing, Leliana was taking out a mage that was standing well back in the hall, and Tilly downed a warrior that was making for Alistair. Sten, still raging over the first attack, hating that he had been caught off guard, charged down the hall, swinging the huge sword and carving a path for the others to follow. Morrigan lingered in the main room after the wraith was killed and she pulled her power together, sending a blizzard through the opposite hall to take care of any stragglers and then bolted after the company.

The Qunari battle cries echoed through the stone hall and Sten didn't slow as they rounded the corner and were facing off with more foes. Oghren was laughing in a kind of sick pleasure, getting caught up in Sten's bloodlust as well, and Zevran had to think quickly as his sharp eyes caught a trip wire just ahead. It was at the top of a few steps, stretching the width of the hall, and explaining why the next group of cultists was hanging back. He whipped out one of his knives and snapped the trip wire while snatching at Sten's arm with his free hand. Luckily, he expected the Qunari's reaction and threw one blade up as Sten turned on him. Their swords crashed together and Zevran was knocked into Ffion as the trap blew.

Its explosion pushed them back and for one heart-stopping moment, the Elf was afraid he had just blocked their way forward. They were coughing and blinking in the dust and debris, and Sten forgot his fury. He backed away from Zevran without an apology and turned to look down the hall. The Elf had had the right idea. The cultists lay sprawled on the floor and the way was clear.

"Next time, Sten, reign in on that a little," Ffion was saying dryly, pushing away from the wall she and Zevran had crashed into, "Unless you really do have a death wish?"

Not surprisingly, the Qunari wasn't perturbed; instead, he continued down the hall, this time in a brisk walk.

"It seemed a good idea," He replied as they followed, "And it worked for a little while."

"Just remember: nice open spaces," Alistair's voice was sarcastic and he was knocking dust from his hair, watching with a little twinge of jealousy as Zevran brushed a few bigger pieces of debris from Ffion's shoulders, "Keep that in mind and we'll get along great."

"Teamwork," Leliana was adding brightly.

They were coming up on another doorway and Sten slowed glancing sidelong at Zevran. The Elf was already stooping forward and he hardly had time to motion for help before Leliana was working at the opposite side. The work was almost done when there were footsteps in the next room and the warrior that looked down at them was as surprised as they were.

"Oi!" He shouted, his hand reaching for his blade.

It never made it. Ffion's pretty little knife was sinking in his neck and dropping him, and Zevran and Leliana were standing in time to face off with the next foes. There weren't many and Leliana's 'teamwork' merely cemented Alistair's earlier comment on the ease of working together. Which seemed like ages ago rather than just a few weeks. This room was more of a cavern than the others. It didn't have the artfully crafted hallways and pretty idols, and there was no door here to lead further; it simply opened up and they found themselves in a tunnel that was eerily like the Deep Roads.

Ffion shared Morrigan's little shudder, clinging to her warning to the others: _No reminiscing!_ She led the way, ignoring the gaping doorway opposite. That only meant that her original thought had been correct and both halls emptied here. They had traveled maybe 100 feet down the path and were rounding a corner when they ran into one of the dragonlings. Ffion came to an abrupt halt, almost causing Alistair to stumble into her. The little creature was cocking its head at them, blinking its bright red eyes, before going right back to scratching at the cavern walls, lapping at the liquid that seeped from the stone.

"Sorry," Ffion murmured as she skirted the dragonling, tugging Tilly along as well, "I've never seen a baby dragon in the flesh before."

"'Tis not too surprising," Morrigan was making a play at being helpful, but her inherent superiority couldn't be hidden, "Few people know how dragons can benefit us. Mother would have-"

"Not now, Morrigan," Alistair cut in, "We know what Flemeth would do to anything with a pulse. She could kill it with a look and-"

"Enough," Ffion said in a sigh, interrupting the argument before it could start.

Wynne spoke next, her voice amused in spite of the 'teacher tone.'

"Morrigan has a point," She offered, "You would not believe the number of apprentices that I caught trying to steal dragon blood, saliva, even horn from the stores to make love potions and other such… tinctures."

"Whaddya mean?" Oghren cut in, "Makin' it bigger t' please the ladies?"

"Surely 'tis a joke?" Morrigan was anything but impressed as Zevran laughed, clapping the Dwarf's shoulder.

The Elf's amber eyes were dancing as they flickered between the ever increasing arch in Ffion's brow, Alistair's reddening cheeks, and Oghren's broad grin. He wasn't able to help himself.

"Just ladies?" He inquired and this time Ffion's face was as bright red as Alistair's.

Oghren and Sten shifted uncomfortably while Wynne and Leliana laughed and even Morrigan smirked, though this was probably more at Alistair's embarrassment than anything else. She rolled her gold eyes a little and moved to stand with Ffion as they rounded the next corner.

Any further conversation was brought to an abrupt halt by Tilly. The Mabari froze, her head lifted and her ears perked forward. A growl rumbled in her throat and Ffion was forgetting her embarrassment as she lifted one hand and signaled the others to hold. It was a good thing, too. Further down the tunnel, from either another bend or a hidden room, a juvenile dragon appeared. It was smaller than the average storybook kind, but wasn't at all pleased to see them. Letting out a screech, flames spurting from its nostrils, it charged down the tunnel at them and Leliana was the first to act. Her arrow slowed the beast's charge and Ffion's knife was landing in its other eye with a quick flick of her wrist. Morrigan's staff erupted in an icy blast and the dragon dropped dead about forty feet from them.

This time, Ffion didn't give anyone an opportunity to discuss the uses of dragon parts. She pressed on down the tunnel and it wound around another bend before splitting. The track to the left sloped down a little and the smell that seeped from it was musty and almost rancid, while the other was wide and much more welcoming. The Warden only hesitated for a moment before heading down the path again. It twisted and turned for a little while, leading further into the mountain, and then ending in a cavern. This wasn't huge, but it was big enough that they crowded a few paces from the entry and set about discussing what was to be done.

Tilly settled that for them and she growled softly as she trotted into the cavern, her head held high and her ears perked forward.

"Tilly!" Ffion hissed and didn't give a thought before hurrying after her hound.

"Ffion!" Alistair said in that same instant and was on her heels.

Ffion was halfway across the room when she spotted the tripline and skidded to a halt. She let out a breath as Alistair collided with her and grabbed hold of her waist to keep them from falling to the floor. They both caught their balance and Ffion marveled at Tilly missing the tripline.

"Tilly, come _now_," She said firmly and quietly. The Mabari glanced at her, almost clearing the huge stalagmite that was in the middle of the room, hiding whatever was on the other side, "Come."

Tilly reluctantly turned back and trotted to her lady as Ffion slipped from Alistair's grasp and crouched to disarm the trip wire. She got it free in no time, but wasn't quick enough to avoid the apologetic lick that the Mabari gave her cheek. Unfortunately the damage had been done.


	48. Chapter 48

**A/N:** A day late, sorry. We had some gorgeous weather yesterday and I spent most of my time outside soaking up the sun and officially planning my garden. So this one is a little longer and I absolutely loved writing the Gauntlet!... Which is actually in the next chapter, but oh well, still very fun to write. Take care!

* * *

A warrior must have heard the skittering of the hound's claws and he came around the corner, shouting a warning and then dropping at a blast from Wynne's staff. But the others hidden behind the stalagmite had heard and were advancing on the Wardens and Tilly. Wynne and Morrigan were quick in their defense and the three opposing mages were kept busy as Oghren, Sten, and Zevran pulled Alistair into the fray. It was roughly 20 against nine and this time the little dragonlings that were here did not stand idly by. Leliana was kept busy while the witch and Enchanter both conjured storms that were quick to debilitate their foes. This gave Ffion and Zevran a perfect opportunity to slip behind and whittle the number down further. It was an intense fight, but the companions were able to gain a quick upper hand thanks to Wynne, Morrigan, and Leliana's efforts and when their human handlers were gone, the little dragonlings seemed to lose interest. Ffion was able to distract Tilly from the creatures with a bribe of treats and they moved further into the room, out of sight from the remaining ones.

There was a little makeshift classroom in an alcove of the cavern. Three long narrow tables were pushed against the rough stone wall and the lighted lamps cast a warm orange glow over them. Tomes that were thick and heavy covered one of the tables and the few that were open revealed yellowing parchment and worn spines. Two large, purple spotted eggs were on the middle table and there were vials and beakers of all sizes on the third.

"Dragon eggs," Wynne said in surprise, touching the shell of one with gentle fingers, "They're raising dragons and I can't imagine why."

"Well, Morrigan did try to tell us their virtues, no?" Leliana offered, "Perhaps they know something we do not?"

"But it's nothing to do with the urn, so lets move on," Ffion left the eggs and tomes, heading to the path that led even further in.

They were back in a twisting tunnel and the dragonlings that populated this didn't trouble them. Unless of course there was a juvenile dragon, (drakes, according to Wynne) there to prompt them. But the company wasn't caught off-guard and soon they came to another split. Ffion paused, eying them both. Alistair was by her elbow and he frowned down at her.

"What do you think?" He questioned, liking the way her brows furrowed in concentration.

"I don't know," She answered slowly and glanced between the two options. One of the paths sloped up gradually while the other remained fairly level, "Genitivi said to travel up, yeah? And there's no handy smell this time, so… let's head up."

They went on, reaching a small room that held only more dragonlings and eggs, and then into another tunnel that still climbed gradually up. Here, the tunnel was quite short, only stretching about 50 yards before opening on another huge cavern. The air was chill again and it was clear that they were finally getting close to the summit… and of course, it wasn't going to be easy to continue.

Ahead there was a tall, broad shouldered man that was only a half-head shorter than Sten. His face was severe, the brows drawn together in a fierce frown as his black eyes glared at them. The warm, slightly brown note of his skin and intelligent eyes reminded Alistair sharply of Duncan, but the resemblance ended there. This man had none of his mentor's inherent compassion or wholeheartedness, and as he stepped forward, a handful of other cultists made their presence known as well. Four mages were loosely ringed behind the man and a half dozen warriors advanced so that the companions would have to walk through a gauntlet of sorts before pressing on.

"My men will keep their weapons sheathed," The big man said gruffly, "Proceed, I must have a word with you."

Ffion was frowning with a matching intensity and glanced sidelong at Alistair as he stepped next to her. He gave her a shrug, but it was Morrigan who spoke.

"We do not have a choice, Ffion. I suppose we take a chance."

"I guess we have to," The Warden agreed quietly and started forward.

She was painfully aware of the warriors closing ranks behind them and blocking any escape, but there was nothing to be done about that. Besides the big man was folding his arms across his chest and meeting Ffion's gaze in an intimidating glare. The light here came from a warming fire that was off to the left, a few scattered torches, and a number of openings in the cavern ceiling, and this bounced off the man's red steel armor and made it glitter menacingly. He gave no command for them to drop their weapons and none of the company bothered with even a show at potential compromise by sheathing them.

"You have been ransacking our caverns, causing us trouble, and disturbing the peace that we have held here for years," He said bluntly, "You have a reason for this I trust?"

Ffion bristled at the man's superior tone and felt all of her previous annoyances come rushing back. The gall of these people! Imprisoning a scholar for simply asking questions, giving them a run-about on said scholar. And now accusing them of causing trouble when Ffion would have been all for compromise had it been considered.

"We've been asking questions since we got here," She replied sharply, "And we have had no answers. None of your people here are willing to talk to us. Instead they attack and we have been fully within our right to defend ourselves. I really don't feel I have to explain in anymore detail than that."

"Questions," He sneered and the anger in his eyes deepened, if that was possible, "Always people asking questions, sticking their noses where they don't belong and stirring up trouble. I will not have it here. My family has been protecting Andraste and this temple for generations and I will not let it end on my watch."

Ffion found herself exchanging glances with both Alistair and Zevran before looking back at the man.

"Protecting Andraste?" She repeated slowly and heard the disbelief in her tone, "You mean she's here, in this cavern?"

The man before them drew himself upright and eyed them with such iciness he rivaled Morrigan on her worst days.

"You really know nothing," He scoffed and then his voice strengthened and his gaze thawed as it went to the other extreme. His face was practically burning with passion as he went on, "Andraste is not dead, she has been reborn! She's more glorious than ever before and you will pay for killing and tormenting her children."

Zevran was cocking his head and frowning at the man.

"Children? You mean the dragonlings, yes?"

"You think this Andraste was reborn as a dragon?" Sten added and his tone was insultingly unconvinced.

"We don't think, we know!" The man's eyes were blazing and it was quite clear just how unbalanced he was. His face tinted red with emotion as he balled his hands into fists and took a half step forward, "She is stronger than ever and we will not allow anyone to threaten her!"

Ffion heard the companions settling into fighting stances and Wynne and Morrigan both were altering the atmosphere around them, ready to go on the defensive the instant it was needed. She arched her brows at the mad man before her and felt the old mischief starting to take hold. She couldn't help but recall the number of times she had purposefully played dumb to annoy her brother and Gilmore, and then later the various guests of her mother and father that just rubbed her the wrong way. And now she couldn't stop herself from falling into the old pattern.

"Let me see if I have this right," She said slowly and put on a faux thoughtful expression, "Your family has been protecting Andraste's temple and ashes for generations here, based out of Haven. And one day you decided that she's not really dead," The Warden ignored Wynne's soft, admonishing call of her name and pushed further, watching the man's face get more and more purple, "So then you had to figure out what she would be reborn as and you pick a dragon, of all things, and start to breed the damn things here in this cavern to, what? Please the almighty mother? Don't you think that's a little insulting to a woman who sacrificed her life thinking only of how to help the less fortunate? Or maybe you actually have the gall to believe that the Maker, who I'm pretty sure is supposed to be impartial to all his worshipers, has singled you out for this great calling and deemed you crazy enough to be worthy? Either way, Andraste died that day on that pillar and you're making a mockery of her sacrifice and damning yourself and those ignorant enough to follow you to everlasting flames."

Sten moved with blinding speed as Alistair pushed Ffion from the man's warpath. The Qunari's broadsword crashed against the enormous battleaxe and the fight was on. Leliana and Morrigan focused on the four mages while Wynne surrounded them with a shield of energy and the others kept the melee fighters busy. This fight was not as easy as the others and the cultists here were better taught then those that were in the tunnels. Sten was kept busy with the leader and the mages came very close to gaining the upper hand even as the other warriors were steadily beaten back. Oghren was finally able to turn on the leader to help Sten, and the Wardens, with Zevran and Tilly, were quick to take on the last three.

That was when it happened. Leliana took a bolt of energy she wasn't quick enough to dodge and she fell back with a cry of pain. Morrigan floundered on her own and even as Ffion turned to throw one of her knives to help, Wynne stepped forward. She drew such power to herself that it was almost as if she was sucking the air from the cavern and when she released it, it was incredible. The force shot in the mages' direction, but it made the whole cavern shake, sending snow tumbling in from the openings above them. The mages were slammed into the far wall, their staffs flying in different directions, and when they landed they didn't move. The ground rocked just enough to unbalance everyone and send Sten's sword through the belly of the man. He dropped, gurgling once or twice, and then went still. Zevran took out the last two and it was Alistair who caught Wynne as she slumped, unconscious, when the spell's power dispersed.

There was a flurry of activity as everyone got their bearings again. Ffion bounced around between all of them, checking to make sure no one was seriously hurt, and ordering Alistair to make Wynne comfortable by the fire. The Enchanter was very pale and shivering with the effects of her spell. If not for those shudders and the gentle rise and fall of her chest, they would have thought she was dead. Morrigan was rifling through her pack, coming up with a few potions that were sure to get Wynne back on her feet and she handed these to Ffion as Alistair gently propped the Enchanter up. It took them a bit before they could get anything down her throat and she was coughing, her eyelids fluttering, when they did. Her pale blue eyes were hazy and though she smiled up at them a little, she didn't try to talk.

Ffion's gaze met Alistair's over the Enchanter's white head and the Warden was close enough to see that there were flecks of darker brown in the ex-Templar's honey colored eyes. She shook herself mentally and got back on track.

"She'll have to stay here," She said softly.

"No," Wynne was breathless, but she was struggling to sit up and free herself of Alistair's arms, "No… I'm - I am quite… alright. Don't - oh!"

She sank back with a small gasp and had to close her eyes again to shut out the wild spinning of the cavern. Her face was even more pale and though she wasn't in pain, it was clear that she had no energy left for the rest of this journey.

"It's alright, Wynne," Ffion soothed, reaching out to brush the strands of hair from the Enchanter's face, "This was the last fight, we just need the ashes now. Alistair will stay here with you and-"

"No," Alistair's answer was automatic and firm. He was looking at Ffion steadily and the Warden wondered why her cheeks flushed, hating that they did, "No, I won't stay behind while you go off alone. I want to go with you."

"I'm not going alone," She replied, annoyed. She let her frustration win out over her embarrassment and went on, "Wynne can't finish right now and she can't stay alone. It's better this way, it's probably what we should have done in the Deep Roads. Ferelden needs the Grey Wardens to end the Blight, yeah? So, we'll split up to make sure that happens. You'll stay here and keep Wynne safe with Morrigan and Oghren. Leliana would never forgive me if I went on to Andraste's temple without her and Zevran and Sten are-"

"Intelligent enough to know a hoax when we see one," Sten interrupted in all seriousness, though he made the rest chuckle.

Alistair was still looking at Ffion and he shook his head at her as Wynne settled comfortably into his arms, relieved to have his support.

"I don't like staying behind while you put yourself in danger," He said stubbornly, "We can figure this out differently."

Ffion was already standing, making sure her weapons were where she wanted them, and then she met the ex-Templar's gaze. She was spreading her hands and giving him a never-you-mind shrug.

"There's nothing to discuss," She answered, "And we won't be long. You can wait here and stew, and we'll argue about it when I get back."

Alistair couldn't help the smile that curved his mouth at her dismissive, almost self-deprecating, words and his eyes were dancing.

"You do realize that you're only leaving me with two before I have to chase after you myself?" He countered and was rewarded when her grey eyes lit and she grinned what he truly believed was _his_ grin.

"Faith, Alistair, faith," She chided and patted Tilly's broad head when the Mabari nudged her, "We'll be back soon."

"It's as lovely Leliana says: teamwork," Zevran added brightly, "Trust in our dove, Chirpy, it has worked in our favor so far."

With those parting words, Ffion turned to lead her companions out of the cavern. Oghren watched them go for a moment and then trailed behind, catching up with the Warden.

"Lis'en, boss," He said gruffly, "I agree wi' P.T. I wanna go along wi' ya."

Ffion smiled at him, touched by his concern and knowing he would be the first to adamantly deny he cared. She glanced at the warming fire where Alistair and Wynne were still settled and saw that Morrigan was making her way to the bodies of the mages.

"I need you to stay here, Oghren," She answered, her voice both firm and gentle, "Wynne can't be left on her own, and Alistair and Morrigan would start quarreling and probably kill each other if they didn't have a buffer. Besides, Wynne likes ale and beer. Maybe your brew will help her out."

She was beaming at this sudden revelation and could feel the dimple in her cheek. It was clear that Oghren liked this idea and he was giving her a nod. His grin was more than a little wicked as his green eyes lit up.

"An' maybe I can finally gain some groun' wi' her, eh?"

Ffion was shaking her head a little, amused, and Zevran spoke first.

"You will need more time than we could give you for that, yes? I wish you luck, my smelly friend."

"We won't be long, Oghren," Ffion added, "Take care of them for me."

The Dwarf gave her a jaunty salute and they departed while he began searching through the bodies of the warriors.

Alistair was watching them leave, wishing he knew what Oghren had said to make Ffion light up so brilliantly. His eyes were lingering on the swing of her hips and his thoughts traveled back to the night at Orzammar. He could still smell the ale that had made her so wonderfully open and affectionate; he felt the grip of her small fingers against his skin and in his clothes, and the heat where her slight body had been pressed to his. But most clearly of all was the way she hadn't blinked as one of her hands cupped the back of his head and pulled his mouth to hers when she had given him that excruciatingly short kiss. He remembered the velvet softness of her lips and the herbal, rather earthy smell of her hair wash, and how easy he would have found it to kiss her back with a will; pushing her onto the bed and then… And then Wynne was speaking to him and it took a hell of an effort to pull himself back to the present.

"You are… fond of her… aren't you?" The Enchanter's voice was low, slowing regaining some of its strength.

"Huh?" Alistair was still partially lost in his thoughts and when he realized how intently Wynne had been looking at him, he flushed bright red and surreptitiously glanced at Morrigan and Oghren. Neither one was paying attention. The witch was rifling through the mages' bodies, while Oghren was still busy with the warriors'. The ex-Templar's honey eyes met Wynne's and he added, "Well, yeah, I mean we're the last two Wardens in Ferelden and if we didn't have each other, it'd be a bloody disaster."

"That's not what… I meant, Alistair," Wynne's voice was still stronger and her piercing blue eyes were not missing how carefully he answered her, "I think it is wonderful… but be careful… You need to-"

She broke off as a cough rumbled through her chest and made her wince with each sharp exhalation. Alistair's hands tightened on her and he was about to call Morrigan over when the Enchanter wordlessly waved that idea aside.

"Don't try to talk, Wynne," He said to her soothingly, "If it takes so much effort, just save it for something really important. Just rest easy knowing that I admire and respect Ffion and am smart enough to realize that this, right now, is all I can hope to have with her."

But Wynne's pale blue eyes were landing on his with a gleam in them that told him just how thin the ice he stood on really was.

* * *

The summit was freezing, the air was thin, and it was very slow going as Ffion and her companions made their way across to the next mount. There were some remnants of a path here and it was clear that this had once been quite the temple and fortress. Along both sides of the path, under the snow and ice, they could make out what had once been parapets and the ruins of guard towers. Luckily for them, the sun was still shining in the sky, though it had started sinking behind the peaks off to their left. It made the snow glitter like diamonds and the view was incredible. The Frostbacks rose up stark against the clear blue sky, their snowy peaks brilliant in the setting sun. Far below, they could see where the rock cliffs gave way to the dark, lush green of the late summer growth and every now and then the sunlight sparkled off curling streams and rivers. Back to the south, clouds were streaking across the sky and looked to be building up with a will and Ffion's only thought was: _Figures!_ Here, the weather had been beautiful while they were traipsing through those tunnels and now that they might be traveling back to Redcliffe within a few hours, the Frostbacks decided enough was enough.

Tilly was nervous, pressing close to Ffion as the path sloped rather steeply down into a broad crevice. It was more of a slide at that point than a walk and Ffion was wondering how they'd manage to climb back up when they heard the _swish_ of wings in the air and smelled an acrid smoke. A huge shadow was swooping across the snow and Sten moved quickly, pulling Ffion and Leliana towards an outcropping of rocks, and ducking behind them. Zevran and Tilly were next and they all dropped into a crouch, Ffion tugging her hound beside her, and watched nervously as the dragon soared above them. It was huge, roughly four or five times bigger than the drakes, and its horns gleamed in the dying sunlight. The undersides of its wings were visible as it rode the air draft, making a wide turn, and settling on the mountainside above and slightly behind them. Zevran cautiously turned his body to keep an eye on it and saw with relief that it had returned to its lair. He could still see the tips of its horns and the purple-black of its back, but it was clearly more interested in sleeping than hunting.

Taking the opportunity presented, he waved the others forward and they slipped from their hiding place, hurrying across the snow and ice as best they could, and keeping close to what remained of the parapets. They reached the other side of the crevice safely and scrambled up the slight incline to the where the sun revealed a small alcove in the mountainside. Hidden within this was a thick wooden door that had been carved with Andraste's flame and what looked like little flowers with vines interweaving their way through everything.

"Andraste's grace," Leliana murmured, one hand gently tracing the elegant lines of the flowers. Zevran was crouching to pick the lock when the handle didn't budge and the Orlesian seemed not to notice as she went on, "My mother always loved these flowers. She had a perfume made from them one year and I still remember the way the scent trailed after her like a veil. They are beautiful little flowers."

"The only thing I smell is that dragon," Sten cut in gruffly, "Let us hope that she doesn't decide to investigate our scent."

Leliana was sending him an annoyed look at how obviously he had missed her point, but Zevran was successful with the door and it sprang inward, discouraging any arguments. They pushed it open further and stepped into a room that was dim even with the torches lining the walls. There were long benches set up like pews on either side of the room and in the corners were idols of Andraste that serenely observed the goings-on of this long abandoned place. Spiders had taken advantage and their silky webs were strung across the ceiling and abounded above the heads of all four Andrastes.

The companions started forward slowly, Leliana's face aglow with the peace and meaning of this place, and a warrior seemed to suddenly materialize at the door ahead of them. Tilly growled softly and Zevran and Sten both reached for their weapons, but Ffion held up one hand as Leliana shook her head.

"There is no trouble here," The Orlesian was saying softly, not looking away from the warrior, "Our only enemy now is our own hearts."

She was approaching the warrior and Ffion didn't think twice about trailing after her. She felt Sten and Zevran reluctantly fall behind her and Tilly was, as always, her shadow. The warrior was tall, shimmering in the torchlight, and his silverite armor was emitting its own light. His helm hid the finer features of his face, but they could clearly see his rich, dark brown beard, and the piercing eyes were a brilliant green. He had a huge mace slung over his back, but he made no move to grab it as they halted in front of him. The green eyes studied each of them in turn and seemed to hone in on all the deep, dark secrets that each one was striving to keep hidden. Being this close, they could see how the warrior resembled the mad man quite alarmingly and it made Ffion stiffen. The warrior sensed this and he fixed his attention on her.

"There is no need to fret," He said and his deep voice seemed to dispense peace and goodwill with just the sound of it, "I have no desire to attack you and watching you as I have done tells me that you have no wish for more fighting. Alas, would that the others had seen this, but they had been led astray for too long."

"Yes, we all realized that the others were a slight bit touched in the head," Zevran's tone wasn't as biting as it usually was and this was as much as a surprise to him as the rest.

"We must not grudge them their passion for Andraste and her Maker," The warrior replied, "Pity the poor souls that have been misled but do not be angry with them. I am the Guardian, in place here for centuries to watch over Andraste's temple. It was my duty in life as her disciple and it is now my duty in death to do the same. I have witnessed the comings and goings of numerous pilgrims, the true-hearted and the fortune seekers; all have come and gone over the passing of years. But this sect…Unfortunate that they have had so much influence for so long," He shook his head, at a loss, and then looked back at Ffion, "You told the leader that Andraste died that day and he was making a mockery of her sacrifice which was brutal, but true. Our Andraste has gone to the Maker's side; she will not return. The dragon is a fearsome creature, and they must have seen her as an alternative to the absent Maker and his silent Andraste. A true believer would not require such audacious displays of power."

Ffion found herself much more honest than usual and she spread her hands, shrugging.

"We had no idea what we were getting involved with," She replied, "I only came up here to see if there was any truth to what Isolde told us. And now that I've found Genitivi and seen you… I don't know what to think anymore. I just want to help Eamon."

"A more truthful answer I could not hope to hear," The Guardian was almost smiling at her and the light in his green eyes was stronger now, "You have taken the necessary steps, acting solely on faith, and that is what you must have for what comes next. Behind this door is the Gauntlet. Many a pilgrim has failed here, not trusting to the faith that brought him to me. I cannot divulge details, of course, you must be free of any foreknowledge and simply… believe. Only then will you reach our Andraste's ashes and fulfill your heart's quest."

Ffion felt trepidation go through her and she eyed the door behind him nervously. Sten was shifting in impatience and she spoke quickly before the Qunari could cut in.

"Well, better now than never," She said and took a step forward.

The Guardian didn't move and the Warden was frowning up at him. He held up one gloved hand and glanced between each of them once more.

"There is one last thing I must ask of you," He said and his deep voice was stern, "I see suffering in your lives: your suffering and the sufferings of others. You, Leliana the bard, should know better than any of the others that the Maker spoke only to Andraste. Your vision was not what you claim. You saw that this made you special, different from your fellow brothers and sisters in the faith. It allowed you to have the distinction that you always craved."

Leliana's small face was bright red and her blue eyes flashed. Her hands were clenched into fists and she refused to look away from the Guardian.

"That is a lie!" She spat, her accent a little more pronounced as she got angry, "I did have a vision, the Maker spoke to me, and I am here to do as he asked. You have no right to disregard what I saw simply because of your own skewed view."

"I am merely imparting what I have seen," The Guardian was unperturbed and he was looking at Sten now, "And you, Sten of the Beresaad, brave and strong in your post as vanguard of your people. Do you feel grief over the family that was slaughtered? Do you feel you have failed your noble people by allowing the world to see them in such a light?"

Ffion was blinking up at the Qunari who hardly flinched at the questions. A muscle clenched in his jaw and his violet eyes were a little distant and when it was clear these words struck closer to home than even he realized, the Warden spoke up.

"He never claims not to have failed," She said sharply and felt Sten's surprised glance, "And if he feels grief or disappointment, well, doesn't that just make him more real?"

The Guardian was looking at her now and the Warden felt her heart sink a little before he even spoke. She knew already what he was going to say.

"And what of you, Warden Ffion?" He quizzed, "You and your fellow Warden wear your regrets more openly than the others. He regrets not saving his mentor, not blocking the killing blow and you? You conceal your heritage and the pain inflicted that night. Do you do so because you regret leaving your mother and father to die? Or is it perhaps a punishment for not doing more?"

The blood drained from Ffion's face and she heard Oriana's scream echoing through her head more clearly than she had for some time. She let the pain and heartache eat at her for a moment and then felt it transform into anger with an alarming speed. She straightened her shoulders, ignoring Leliana's pitying look and Zevran's steady, knowing gaze.

"Of course I regret that," She snapped, "I could have done more. I - I left them to face that bastard on their own and saved my own neck. Does that answer your question? Or would it be better to collapse into a heap on the floor and start weeping hysterically?"

"It answers my question," The Guardian spoke with such gentleness that Ffion found tears springing to her eyes, "You cannot begin to heal while you hold to this helpless thought."

The Warden blinked hard and shook her head, thinking fleetingly that it was a stroke of brilliance, leaving Alistair behind. She wouldn't have been able to handle his shocked face and then gentle questions.

"Perhaps I don't deserve to heal," She replied and wondered where that had come from. The pain was a yawning chasm within her and she was dangerously close to becoming that hysterical heap and that dawning realization was only making matters worse.

Sten stepped in then, repaying her act of kindness with one of his one.

"Do not be so foolish as to wish for that, kadan," He said softly and ignored Zevran's surprised look at the endearment, "Cherish their memory always, but allow the pain of their dying to cease so you are not consumed."

Ffion was quite obviously torn between her anger and tears, and this time Zevran came to her rescue. He shrugged away the shock that Sten's softening had brought about and stepped forward a little.

"I suppose it is last but certainly not least, yes?" He said and drew the Guardian's attention, "Come, take your shot, and try to reduce me to a mass while our dove recovers."

"Glibness only protects one for so long, does it not, Zevran Arainai?" The Guardian seemed more than happy to oblige the Elf, "You have been a killer for many years. Tell me, do you regret any of the lives you have cut short? Or is it only one that haunts you? You took the life of that young-"

"Target struck," None of them had ever heard Zevran's voice so cold and he was waving away the Guardian's question. His amber eyes were hard with none of their usual charm and he inclined his head to the Guardian, "You are quite good, yes? Naturally I regret that one, but I will not discuss it further. You have your answer."

"Indeed I have," The Guardian looked as though he was going to continue, but Zevran's expression seemed to make him think otherwise. He glanced at Ffion once more and the Warden was more than composed enough to meet his gaze squarely, "You have all been honest with me, if not open. Even you, Leliana. You truly believe you have been singled out and I will not condemn you for this. The way forward is open, step in faith."


	49. Chapter 49

**A/N: **I kind of like posting in the middle of the week when no one expects it... Though this wasn't done on purpose. Last week was busy for us. I became an aunt again to my very first nephew (Yah!) and of course, Sunday was devoted to Mom and working outside in the gorgeous sunshine. So this chapter is a little longer and the riddles belong to the clever writers at Bioware, not me. All the best!

* * *

The door behind him swung inward and as he stepped to one side, he disappeared as though he had never been there. Ffion blinked and felt the others looking at her, waiting for her word. Zevran's gaze was the most piercing and she ignored him, not wanting to go into anymore detail than what was needed. Now was not the time, though she herself was bursting with curiousity and it was Sten who made the decision here.

"Enough of this," His voice was back to its usual deep tones, but his eyes were much kinder when they landed on the Warden, "Let us press on and see if the Arlessa was right."

Ffion gave him a nod of thanks and stepped forward into the long broad hall. She felt a peculiar shakiness in her limbs and was more than a little exhausted by the force of the emotions that had swept through her. All this time she had done her best to bury her head into the sand and pretend that the gravity of what had happened to her family would not crush her. And then she heard those startling words from her own lips and she wondered how much truth was behind them. She had certainly believed them on that terrible, nightmare trip to Ostagar, but when Duncan had given her this chance and she had gotten to know Alistair, she started to back away from that. Indeed, she had grown so accustomed to hiding her heritage from the others that she had even, _Maker forgive me! _begun to forget herself.

But now, they were in this gloomy hall and more spirits were appearing. There were four that lined each wall, standing before more idols of Andraste and the flickering torchlight revealed their transparency. They were eerily beautiful and Ffion was stepping toward the closest one on their left before anyone could stop her. Tilly wasn't alarmed by their presence and her lady took this as a good thing, and as they came closer a voice began speaking. It was clearly coming from the spirit they approached and his voice was rasping, echoing throughout the chamber.

"… cruel counterpart; from love she grows, till love lies slain. Of what do I speak?"

The spirit fell silent again, staring steadily at Ffion as she studied him in surprise. His helm was gleaming, the horns on either side curving forward and giving him a menacing look. He stood tall and straight, his head held high and the white beard brushing the top of his breastplate.

"So we must answer riddles?" Sten was saying and Ffion held up one hand in alarm, wondering what would happen if the specter thought that might be their answer.

But he remained still, his eyes on Ffion only. She gave the Qunari a nod and Leliana deemed it safe to speak then.

"This is General Maferath, Andraste's mortal husband," She was speaking quietly, awe in each of those words. Her blue eyes went around the room as she studied each of the spirits, "They will all be tied to Andraste in some way. That makes this quite simple, no?"

The Warden didn't look away from the general and instead parted her lips slowly.

"Is it… May I hear the riddle again, please?" She asked cautiously, almost crossing her fingers.

He inclined his head and repeated,

"A poison of the soul, passion's cruel counterpart; from love she grows, till love lies slain. Of what do I speak?"

Ffion was frowning, deep in thought. She had always enjoyed riddles as a child and she remembered how Gilmore used to spend hours trying to come up with something that would stump her. First Gilmore and then Oriana, who had loved crafting the riddles as well. _From love she grows, till love lies slain_… That followed immediately after thoughts of Oriana and Ffion beamed, glancing up at the general again.

"Jealousy," She answered promptly, knowing that even if she wasn't right, she had come damn close. Hadn't she been horribly jealous when Oriana first came to their family, diverting her hero-worshiped Fergus' attention from her? And all of this stemmed from love for her brother, which grew to encompass her sister-in-law and nephew…

"Yes," The spirit's voice had softened and it was obvious he felt shame even all these years after death had claimed him, "Jealousy drove me to betrayal. I was the greatest general of the Alamarri… but beside her, I was nothing. Hundreds fell before her on bended knee. They loved her as did the Maker… I loved her, too, but what man can compare with a god?"

He faded away as he spoke and the little beam of light he became shot through the set of double doors at the other end of the room. Thrilled with her success, Ffion moved to the next spirit. This one was a woman with a strikingly handsome face and bright red hair. Her Tevinter robes were immaculate as they shone in the light and her arrogance was on display as she spoke in a strong voice.

"An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. The debt of blood must be paid in full. Of what do I speak?"

Leliana had the answer almost instantly.

"It is vengeance, Ffion," She said quietly, "I think I know that well enough, no?"

Ffion hesitated only a fraction of a second before nodding and repeating the Orlesian's answer.

"Indeed," The woman said, "My husband Hessarian would have chosen a quick death for Andraste. I made him swear that she would die publicly with her warleaders, that all would know the Imperium's strength. I am justice. I am vengeance. Blood can only be repaid in blood."

She disappeared in the same manner of the general and the next riddle came from a tall, dark haired Chantry brother.

"No man has seen it, but all men know it. Lighter than air, shaper than any sword. Comes from nothing, but would fell the strongest armies. Of what do I speak?"

Ffion took her time again, still not sure what would happen if she guessed wrong. She wracked her brain, recalling all the history lessons she should have paid more attention to. Andraste's armies had advanced and the Tevinters were taken out, but what had been the catch? She heard Tilly whine softly and felt the Mabari's tongue rake across her hand and for whatever reason, that answered her question.

"Hunger," She said uncertainly, waiting with bated breath.

"Yes, hunger was the weapon used against the wicked men of the Imperium. The Maker kindled the sun's flame, scorching the land. Their crops failed, and their armies could not march. Then he opened the heavens and bade the waters flow and washed away their filth. I am Cathaire, disciple of Andraste and commander of her armies. I saw these things done and knew the Maker smiled upon us."

The next was a pleasant looking woman who had clearly been a peasant in her mortal life.

"The smallest lark could carry it, while a strong man might not. Of what do I speak?"

"A tune," Leliana and Ffion answered this in unison and the spirit smiled.

"Yes, I was Andraste's dearest friend in childhood and always we would sing. She celebrated the beauty of life and all who heard her would be filled with joy. They say the Maker himself was moved by Andraste's song and then she sang no more of simple things."

She disappeared and the party moved to the opposite side of the hall to finish this task.

"Perhaps Sten and I should merely wait by the door, yes?" Zevran questioned dryly, his amber eyes back to their customary dancing.

"You have four more chances and remember what I told Alistair? Faith," Ffion grinned at him, "You're not getting out of this."

This one was the specter of an Elf and even Zevran couldn't feign indifference when he began speaking in a cultured voice.

"I am neither a guest nor a trespasser be; in this place I belong that belongs also to me. Of what do I speak?"

There was a silence as they all considered this and then Zevran's voice said firmly,

"Home."

Ffion glanced back at him with arched brows and he waved for her to go on. Shrugging, she repeated his answer to the Elf, who nodded.

"It was my dream for my people to have a home of their own, where we would have no masters but ourselves. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and thus we followed Andraste, against the Imperium. But she was betrayed and so were we."

The Warden turned about completely to look at Zevran with a small smile as the spirit disappeared.

"See?" She said as they continued down the line, "Faith and teamwork, all we need."

The Elf was chuckling, pleased to see that she was back to herself and retreating from whatever chasm the Guardian had opened right in front of her. He had hated to see it and didn't want to see it again. He was ready with a quick response, but the riddler was first.

"The bones of the world stretch towards the sky's embrace. Veiled in white, like a bride greeting her groom. Of what do I speak?" He watched the Warden steadily, his Chantry robes shining with their own light.

This time, it was Sten's turn.

"He speaks of mountains, Ffion," The Qunari said, "We have seen enough of them lately to know this."

Once more, the Warden was surprised, but Leliana was nodding and when she answered the riddle, she found he was right.

"Yes, I carried Andraste's ashes out of Tevinter into the mountains to the east where she could forever gaze into her Maker's sky. No more fitting a tomb than this could we find."

"Debatable," Sten muttered, killing whatever grace he had earned with a correct answer.

But the spirit was gone and the next was the Archon Hessarian, according to Leliana. He wore his formal robes and his gaze was incredibly sad for one coming from a spirit.

"She wields the broken sword and separates true kings from tyrants. Of what do I speak?"

"Mercy," Zevran's voice joined Leliana's and they exchanged knowing glances as Ffion repeated this and the spirit nodded.

"I could not bear the sight of Andraste's suffering and mercy bade me end her life. I am the penitent sinner who shows compassion as he hopes compassion may be shown to him."

The last spirit was an older woman, heavier set, with a face that had been lined by both worry and smiles alike. She also had the look of a peasant about her but when she spoke, her gentle voice told them that she had been a noble, loving woman.

"Echoes from a shadow realm, whispers of things yet to come. Thought's strange sister dwells in night, is swept away by dawning light. Of what do I speak?"

Ffion hardly thought about that one and was only half sure when the answer came to her lips.

"Dreams," She said quietly and then blinked up at the spirit, wondering if she had made a mistake.

"Yes," The voice softened and her gaze was eternally sad, "A dream came upon me as my daughter slumbered beneath my heart. It told of her life and her betrayal and… death. I am sorrow and regret. I am a mother weeping bitter tears for a daughter she could not save."

Zevran saw the chasm a little more clearly in Ffion's face as the spirit disappeared and the doors swung open. And when she turned about to head that way, it was suddenly yawning before him. She let out a sharp gasp, her eyes lighting with wonder as she darted forward into the shadows of the next room, Tilly on her heels. The Elf called her name in alarm, starting after her, but Sten was quick to stop him. The Qunari also held Leliana back, his eyes sharp to pick up on movement in that next room, and he was sure he was only one to hear the softly spoken _Papa_.

"No, hold," The Qunari said quietly, "This is a task for her alone. We can't help her here."

Ffion's eyes were smarting with hot tears as she raced into the next room. Her father was standing before her as a shimmering spirit which made this so much harder, knowing that he was indeed dead and gone. But for right now, he was smiling at her with his old tenderness and though he cocked his head at her in the way that was so painfully familiar, he didn't open his arms. They both were well aware that he wasn't substantial enough for the embrace this occasion called for and that twisted the knife in Ffion's heart.

"Hello, my dear," The sound of his voice triggered more tears and then he went on, "Your mother and I are so proud of you, but, my girl, you can't grieve forever. You know that we are gone and all of your dreams and wishes, no matter how strong you feel them, will not bring us back."

Ffion stifled a sob, wanting to throw her arms around her father's neck and let him hold her as he used to when she was upset, and the fact that she couldn't was horrible.

"Please, Papa, I can't… I can't. I miss you, both of you… and I don't - _can't_ let you go yet," She answered and heard how shaky her control was.

"You must, Ffion," His blue-grey eyes were tender and his voice was firm without losing its loving undertones. One hand reached out to brush her cheek and though he wasn't solid, she could feel a gentle breath creep across her skin as he touched her, "Take the pain and the guilt, acknowledge it and let it go. It is time."

She shook her head, putting her hand up to press his palm to her cheek, and crying in earnest when she couldn't.

"Not yet," She choked, "Please, not yet. Don't leave me yet, Papa."

"Oh, Pup," And his own voice cracked as her resolve broke at the endearment and she let out an audible sob, "You must stay strong and never forget us as we were. Don't let Howe get the best of you; and remember a father and mother who adored you and wanted nothing more than to see their children have a happy future. Goodbye, my dearest Pup and sweetest girl… I love you."

There was a _clink_ of something hitting the floor and Bryce Cousland was gone. Ffion's eyes were blurred by tears and it took her a moment to catch her breath and stifle the sobs again. Tilly was whining, not liking that she couldn't defend her lady from this pain. The Warden touched her head and let her knees get weak. She sank to a crouch, not giving the others waiting behind her a thought as she pressed her face into Tilly's fur. Once again, she picked up the familiar tobacco and leather scents and was grateful that the dim light gleamed on what had fallen to the floor; she desperately needed the distraction. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and reached out to pick up the object. It was a small medallion strung on a thin silver chain and as she studied the smooth, almost pearl colored surface, she spotted a brief glimpse of familiar faces that were too far away to see clearly. She could make out her father's eyes, her mother's smile, Oren's mischievous grin, and Oriana's pretty heart-shaped face with the dimpling smile that had become so dear to her. She waited to catch Fergus' dancing gaze or the grin his son had inherited, but it never came. Somehow this strengthened her resolve again and she found herself getting to her feet, knocking the last of the tears away and motioning to the others without looking at them. The absence of Fergus in the medallion was a good thing, she was sure. It meant she had something to hope for, to cling to, and if her brother was still alive then… she would be the happiest girl in the world. It meant that not everything had been lost and the Couslands stood a better chance than before at pulling through this tragedy.

Her companions were approaching cautiously and Ffion once more felt her grief evolving into anger. She relapsed into pushing herself as she had in the Deep Roads, telling herself that she would think about it later, that now was not the time. And though last time it had ended with a drunken, completely lost night and what would have been a hell of a hangover without Leliana, she shoved that aside, too. The Orlesian was looking at her pityingly once more, her lips parting to ask a question, and Ffion cut her short.

"It's over," She said abruptly and heard the hoarseness in her voice, "And there's nothing to discuss. Let's move on."

She had taken in her surroundings for the first time and saw that they were standing in a small entry with a short section of wall blocking the rest of the room from their view. There were doorways leading further on either side of the wall and the light was even poorer here so that when they rounded the corner and headed for the next set of doors, the specters that popped up to fight them were hardly visible. It was only when the spirits moved that they could see what they were up against. Each of them had a spirit of themselves to fight and it wasn't as easy as they would have believed. They were so evenly matched and the only thing that seemed to help Ffion was the fact that she let her anger get the best of her and attacked her image as though it was Howe she was battling. She beat the spirit back and finally took it out with a swing of both blades, loping the head from the specter and turning to take out the Tilly spirit that was trying to lock onto her Tilly's neck. One of her knives was flipped into her palm as she heard Sten curse in his own tongue, but she was too late. The Qunari was ramming his sword into the spirit's belly and Leliana's image was taken out a moment later. The room was clear and the next set of doors popped open. Ffion was feeling something akin to bloodlust and she would have been thrilled had she found something else she could have attacked with her swords. Zevran must have read this in her expression for he was the one that led them into the next room.

It was a little smaller than the previous one, circular in shape, and there was a ledge that ran along both walls, a full flagstone's width. Framing the gaping chasm that was directly between them and the next doorway were twelve slightly raised platforms that were added to the ledge almost as an afterthought, but that couldn't possibly be. It seemed that nothing Andraste's disciples created were afterthoughts. More idols of Andraste decorated the curving walls and Ffion had to gaze at this in utter dismay before steeling herself to the task at hand. There was an odd flagstone that was directly ahead, out of place as it stood proud from the rest, with spike-like arms that curled upwards from each corner of the stone. And suddenly this made a little more sense to the Warden.

"Tilly, sit," She said firmly, handing the Mabari a thick slice of jerky, "And stay right there."

She stepped forward and stood in the middle of that odd flagstone.

"Ffion, what are you-"

"The Guardian said believe," She interrupted Leliana without a thought and she was studying the rest of the raised flagstones that were extending almost questioningly, "So that's what we'll do. This is the test of utter faith… for all of us. There has to be some way of…" Her voice trailed off and she was fixed on the stones to her left, "Sten, Zevran, there was a little gleam of light just then. It's the, let's see… the third and last platforms. Go and stand on them and let's see what happens."

They did as she asked and as they stood on the middle of the stones, the shadowy image of another oddly carved flagstone appeared ahead of Ffion. She frowned, glancing down the line of platforms where Sten and Zevran were standing and then studying the other side, never doubting that whatever spirit here would show her the correct stone. Sure enough there was another gleam of light and the Warden felt more sure of herself.

"Leliana, the second one, please," She said and after the Orlesian did so, she took a deep breath and stepped onto the stone that appeared in front of her, trying desperately to hold to the belief that it would stay substantial enough for her weight. It wasn't quite solid looking, but she didn't step through it and once more, she went through her practice of studying the ring of platforms, refusing to look down into the bottomless chasm beneath her, where the frigid air was drifting up in a cloud of white. And again, she was rewarded with a quick gleam as the light beneath Sten's faded from barely there to nonexistent, "Sten, the fourth one on the right."

"You don't think that-"

"I'm _not_ going to think about it," She interrupted quickly, "This will work. I know you don't believe in Andraste so just… have some faith in me instead."

The Qunari studied her a moment longer and then inclined his head, liking that answer. He stepped from his platform, all of them watching the stone Ffion was standing on and letting out relieved breaths as it remained solid for her. When he reached the other side and stood on the fourth stone, there was a faint outline ahead of her that told her she was on the right track. This time Leliana's stone went dark and the first platform to the left flashed for a split second. The Warden sent her to it and tried fiercely to ignore the way her own flagstone was suddenly nothing more than an outline beneath her feet. But the one ahead of her was ready and even as Zevran said her name, she was stepping onto it and sending him a wan smile. She was standing much closer to him than she thought and knew that this time she'd have to be damn careful. There was only space for one more of her flagstones and she watched the ledge carefully, hearing Tilly's soft whine.

"Easy, girl," She said brightly, "I'm all right. Zev, you're up. It's the one on this side of Sten… The fifth one."

The Elf started that way and then froze as the stone under Ffion disappeared completely.

"Ffion!" The sound of her name echoed sharply through the room and vibrated down the chasm and Tilly let out a couple of ferocious barks, feeding off of the others' horror.

"Don't move!" The Warden shouted and her voice drowned out the rest, "Sten, Leliana, stay put! Tilly, sit!"

The Mabari reluctantly sank to her haunches, ears forward, and brown eyes unhappy. Sten and the Orlesian moved back to the middle of their stones, thankfully never leaving them completely. Save Tilly, no one had ever heard that note of utter command in the Warden's voice and it was not something to be ignored. Her grey eyes were fierce as she looked at all of them in turn and she almost stamped her foot to prove that there was a solid surface beneath her.

"You _have _to trust me," She added, the command still there but quieter this time, "I can see what I'm doing and clearly it's worked so far. Zevran, please, the fifth one. We're almost there."

It would have been comical in any other situation. Here their leader was, standing in mid-air, giving orders that none of them felt they could ignore, and she wasn't in any sort of position to physically make them if she had to. But the Elf was heeding her words and as soon as he stepped onto the next stone, the little mirage of Ffion's was becoming more substantial.

"Sten, this side of Leliana; the second one. Tilly, _stay_," She added the last firmly as the Mabari started standing.

The Qunari was stepping onto the stone and the mirage became real. Ffion beamed around at all of them and crossed to the doorway as it opened for her. She turned and saw that the bridge was now completely tangible and Tilly was tearing across to her, jumping and licking at her hands as though she hadn't seen her for days.

"Down, girl, down," She laughed, pushing the Mabari from her as the others reached them.

"I can take her place if you like?" Zevran offered.

Ffion's cheeks flushed a little.

"Tease," She replied and turned to go into the next room.

"Always, my dove, always."

This was the most impressive yet. Directly ahead of them was a flight of steps that led to a huge statue of Andraste, her hands extended as though offering them the tall, graceful urn at her feet. On either side of this, along the walls, were identical alcoves that also held idols and there was no sign of decay or abandonment here. The spiders had not been able to gain the upper hand and the flagstones and walls were clean-swept and looked new in spite of the age of this temple. And of course, between them and the urn was a line of flames that were leaping a little higher than Tilly's head. It stretched from one wall to the opposite, burning with a fire's natural heat, but without its natural growth and destruction. Positioned on their side, in the middle of the room, was an altar of sorts and Ffion walked to it, studying more carvings of Andraste's grace and flame. It took her a moment to spot the words that were etched amongst the vines and flowers and when she did, Leliana was already reading them.

"Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar; be born anew in the Maker's sight," The Orlesian's voice was soft and she had the storyteller's cadence that the riddle needed. Her gaze went to Ffion's and she cocked her head a little, "Trappings of worldly life? Do you think it means our armor?"

Ffion read the riddle again and felt her own thoughts going down that same path. She let out a sigh and inclined her head.

"Only one way to find out," She answered and then added as Leliana began to pull her bow and arrows from her back, "No, Leliana, I think… I mean, those spirits only listened to my answers and it was my… I think this is meant for me. Let me try it first at least, yeah?"

Leliana looked rather put out, but she conceded the point.

"I understand," She said and her disappointment was rather comical. Who would have thought someone would be upset after being told _not _to walk through flames? "If you're sure?"

"I'm sure," Ffion was slipping her weapons from her back and unfastening her boots, "So far all of the tasks have seemed to depend on my own faith, why should this be any different? And not one smart comment from you, Zev, unless you want me to cut out your tongue."

"Such violence, my Warden," The Elf was purring the words as he smiled, "You have my firm promise. But this does not stop me from watching most avidly, yes?"

Ffion's cheeks were flooding with color and she did her best to ignore him as she struggled briefly with one of the straps on her breastplate. She saw that Sten was thoughtfully turning from her and she wanted to thank him as Leliana settled onto the floor and dipped one hand into a pouch tied to her belt. She proceeded to munch at a few pieces of cheese and ham which she shared with Tilly, who wagged her stub tail and perched beside the Orlesian.

Ffion felt very awkward indeed, standing next to the altar and stripping off each piece of her armor. She was stacking it in a neat pile, replaying her father's words over and over in her head, as a distraction, and always coming back to the realization that she just wasn't ready to leave the memory of her parent's death behind her. For now it had to be remembered because there was no way she could keep the strength she needed for the face-off with the bastard Howe. She had finished with her armor and was still lost in her thoughts when Zevran's voice was cutting through them.

"It said worldly trappings, yes?" He was observing in a rather lazy drawl, knowing that she had been too wrapped in her own world to notice his scrutiny. The chasm was coming close to the surface again and he was ready to try anything to distract her. She looked far too lost and hopeless when her thoughts became dark and he didn't like it. And disregard the fact that it was the darkness that originally drew him to her and made him believe she was a kindred spirit. That rather macabre desire had disappeared the moment he had seen the warmth and innocence within her and those quickly became the only things he wanted from her. And the surefire way to get that was to charm and embarrass, "Do you think this means clothing as well?"

The Warden's face went bright red and Leliana was giggling. Ffion's grey eyes were truly alarmed and she read the inscription again before glancing at Leliana.

"Do you really think so?" She asked and her concern was somehow endearing.

Leliana had a hard time keeping herself from winking at Zevran, but she had to admit that part of her shared Ffion's worries. It would be awful to come all this way, having subjected Ffion to that emotional turmoil, only to misstep here and make it all count for nothing. She smiled gently at the Warden instead and lifted her shoulders.

"It is something to take into account, no?" She answered finally.

Ffion's eyes narrowed as she glanced between them, barely taking note of Sten's facing the room again.

"Is this a joke?" She demanded, almost but not quite putting her hands on her hips like she was their den-mother, "Are you two trying-"

"If we waste anymore time Chirpy will get nervous. He did remind you that you only left him with two to send, yes?" Zevran interrupted his Warden with ease, his amber eyes dancing.

"And could you imagine Oghren and Morrigan attempting those trials?" Leliana added, picking up the Elf's track, "Those poor spirits-"

"Oh, Maker's balls!" Ffion exclaimed in a breath.

She stripped her leggings off in one fluid move and tossed them to the floor beside her armor, and her cotton shirt joined them a moment later. Not looking at any of them and telling Tilly to stay put, she stepped to the line of flames, took a deep breath, and steeled herself before walking through them.

Zevran was living up to his words and watching her _very_ avidly. Ffion was hiding quite the little shape underneath her leather armor and he would be a liar if he said he wasn't affected by it. She had a true hour-glass shape, her skin was milky white and looked heart-stoppingly soft. There were only a few marks of this hard living and these scars had been so well tended there was little risk that they would mar the perfection he saw in her. Her smallclothes were finely tailored, but it was very easy to imagine what was beneath them and he had an almost painful desire to tug her hair loose so the chocolate curls tumbled down her bare back, over those beautifully rounded shoulders, and…

But the thought was cut short. The Guardian was suddenly standing with their Warden on the other side of the flames and Leliana was starting to her feet, her expression studious. The Elf had been quick enough to notice the way that she had looked at Ffion and he was more intrigued than ever. He was still quite sure the Warden would disappoint her and he wondered how Leliana managed this. Not that this was anything to discuss now, and indeed, the Guardian was speaking with Ffion in a most pleasant manner.

"You have been through the trials of the Gauntlet. You have followed the path of Andraste and, like her, you have been cleansed. You have proven yourself worthy, pilgrim. You may approach the ashes."

Ffion, desperately wanting to grab her shirt or at the very least cross her arms over her chest, nodded her head at him. She was very aware of the way Zevran and Leliana were both watching her and the thought struck her like lightning.

"Wait," She said quickly as the Guardian started to turn away, "Leliana… I mean, this means more to her than any of us. May she come across and come to the urn with me? She wouldn't forgive me if I didn't at least ask."

Leliana's lips parted in surprise and she beamed at Ffion. The Guardian was almost smiling at the Warden and when he spoke, his voice was gentle.

"You have more faith than even you know, Warden Ffion," He said quietly, "It is most intriguing. Yes, your companions may cross. They will need to if you are to leave this temple. There is a door leading to the summit just there," He pointed to the shadows to the right of the stairs, "Andraste guide you in your quest and keep you close to the Maker's hand."

The Guardian disappeared again and Leliana was scooping Ffion's things up into her arms and crossing the flames without trouble. Tilly, after a brief moment of hesitation, jumped nimbly across as well, and Zevran and Sten joined them. As she pulled on her clothes, the Warden noted that the men both were wincing as though the fire was too hot. But Leliana was walking slowly towards the steps, no longer paying attention to Ffion or anyone else, and the Warden trailed behind her, distracted. The steps were smooth and even, with very little wear, and Andraste's serene statue towered over them. Two shallow bowls held flames at either end of the stairs and they burned with the same warm peace of that fire far below them, in the first cavern, where Genitivi and Syd waited patiently. The urn was a pale shining gold and Ffion, setting her armor to the side once more, glanced at Leliana as the Orlesian halted at the bottom of the steps.

"I am not worthy of this, Ffion," She said softly, her blue eyes fixed on the urn and the doubt written across her face, "I have made so many mistakes, told lies, deceived innocents… I shouldn't even be here."

Ffion cocked her head at the Orlesian, pulling at her cotton shirt and missing the weight of her armor. She was struck by Leliana's words and spoke bluntly, with her usual honesty.

"Not worthy?" She repeated, "Leliana, you're the most devout person I've met in a long time and the Guardian wouldn't have given you permission to come with me if you weren't worthy of it. All of us have made mistakes, but I was always taught that the Maker is merciful and when you recognize your faults and ask forgiveness, then he forgives. You have _nothing_ to worry about. Now come on, we need to get what we came here for."

She started up the steps and Leliana was smiling broadly, touched by her kind words. The Orlesian joined Ffion at the urn and was once more stunned into silence: she just couldn't believe she was standing there. The Warden wasn't quite as awed. She studied the urn for a moment and saw more of Andraste's symbols etched into the gleaming surface. It was beautiful and the lines of it curved gracefully, standing about to Ffion's mid-thigh. She tugged an empty leather pouch from her belt and carefully pulled the lid from the urn. No matter what her thoughts on religion were, these were still the remains of a woman who had been very great in her time and she deserved their respect.

"Ffion, can I…" Leliana's soft voice trailed off and she started again uncertainly, "May I take the pinch?"

The Warden smiled and extended the little pouch.

"Of course," She answered and stepped aside to give the Orlesian room.

Leliana took a small scoop of the ashes with the utmost reverence and replaced the lid gently. Her fingers lingered on the urn for a moment as her lips moved in a silent prayer and then she was handing the pouch to Ffion. Her face was completely at peace and she smiled at the Warden.

"Thank you, Ffion, you have no idea what that means to me," She said and her voice was still awed, "And now we can move on, no?"

"Right," The Warden replied promptly and went back down the steps to her pile of armor and arms.

Zevran was leaning rather insolently on the thick stone railing, swinging her swords in their leather sheaths from one hand. His amber eyes were watching her as boldly as ever and they began dancing as she started strapping her armor back in place.

"A pity society demands clothing, yes?" He said and grinned at her flushing cheeks.

"A thought which chaffs terribly on you to be sure," Sten was not in the mood to observe the usual back and forth with the Elf and his attention was solely on Ffion, "This is it, correct? Then let us return to the task at hand."

Ffion was tugging her boots on, one hand pressing to Tilly's head so she could keep her balance. She snagged the swords from Zevran and slung them back where they belonged. Sparing a sole glance at Leliana who was more than a little reluctant to leave the temple, she headed to the heavy door that the Guardian indicated. As Sten stepped forward and pulled it open, Ffion couldn't help but glance back through the chasm room and into the abandoned hall where her father's specter had been. She heard his voice, felt that gentle breath on her cheek, and knew that she was approaching that gaping, pain-riddled canyon. She would give anything and everything to have one last moment with her mother and father and wished that she could at least glimpse him one last time. But instead it was Zevran that was stepping into view, his expression gentle as he put one hand under her elbow and steered her through the door.

"My dove, there is nothing more for you here," He told her softly and she didn't think she had ever heard that note of utter sweetness from him, "Our Sten is right, do not dwell on this so that it destroys you."

"Zevran, right now… I don't have a choice," The Warden answered him in complete exhaustion. But she was straightening her shoulders and holding her head high, and he found this both very endearing and very attractive, "Come on, let's go and see if Wynne is up for the trip back."


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N: **Trying to get back on the regular schedule, so here's the next chapter. Hope all is well with everyone and you all enjoy!

* * *

The sun had set completely and the temperature was dropping well below freezing as they slid down into the crevice again. The clouds that had been slowly building to the south were now gathering amongst the peaks around them and small flakes of snow were beginning to drift down to settle on the party. They had to scramble up the path again using both feet and hands, and Tilly was the only one that was able to climb with any ease.

And then, they were back in the cavern again and seeing that Wynne was much better. She was sitting up and sipping at a potion that was steaming in a pottery mug. Morrigan was lounging on one side of the warming fire, reading a big battered tome; and Oghren was cradling his flask as he perched next to Wynne, talking too loudly and blinking far too much. Alistair was dropping another log onto the fire and he beamed as they crossed the cavern to him.

"Just in time," He greeted brightly, "I was getting ready to send one of them after you."

Ffion glanced between the remnants of the party with arched brows though she smiled gently at Wynne before responding.

"I'm sure they would have been thrilled," She said dryly and motioned with one hand to the path that led back down through the mountain, "We've done our part for Isolde. If you're ready for the trip back, Wynne, we could get back to Genitivi and Syd and rest a bit before we press on."

The Enchanter was finishing the contents of her mug and she was slowly getting to her feet, Alistair beside her in a flash. He put a steadying hand under her elbow as Morrigan shoved her tome back into her pack and Oghren hooked his flask from his belt. He functioned incredibly well even with the flood of alcohol that must be coursing through him and Ffion couldn't help but be impressed.

"I'm alright, Alistair, thank you," Wynne was saying quietly, pulling herself free and standing on her own without trouble, "And I think I'll be fine now, Ffion."

The Warden nodded and took a last sweeping glance around the cavern. Zevran was right: there was nothing for her here, not anymore. But as she led them down into the tunnels again, she couldn't stop the fleeting thought: _I'm not letting go, not yet. I can't!_ And it was as though a darkness settled over her and she knew that whatever peace had been within her grasp in that Gauntlet was now completely gone.

They made it back to the Genitivi and Syd without trouble and the little donkey practically turned himself inside-out when he saw Sten. The brother was looking at them in surprise, leaving his leather folder and the papers that he had spread out by the warming fire. He had managed to put together a makeshift table and when he got gingerly to his feet, it was clear that he had been sitting there for some time.

"You're back," He said and his brown eyes were lit with excitement, "What happened? Did you make it to the temple? What was it like?"

Leliana was laughing at the brother's childlike intensity, sharing his glee.

"It was awe-inspiring," She said, "I do not think anything has ever touched me quite so deeply."

Ffion could practically see the words bubbling to Oghren's lips and she spoke first before the Dwarf could be crass.

"What are your plans now, Genitivi?" She questioned as she moved to the fire and extended her hands to its comfortable warmth, "You've spent all this time hunting for the urn and now that you've found it… what's the next step?"

He was ready for that question.

"Now we spread the word," His face was aglow, "Every pilgrim that has a wish to see the urn will have it granted. This is not something that should remain closed up in this mountainside as though we are ashamed of what Andraste did. Perhaps, in your travels, you could-"

"No," Ffion answered simply and tonelessly. She was shaking her head and meeting Genitivi's surprised gaze squarely, not meaning to insult the man personally. She just wanted to get her point across to him, "I won't stand in your way, brother, but I'm not going to have any more of a part in this."

"Ffion-"

"You're not going to convince me, Leliana, so don't try," The Warden was settling onto the cold stone floor by the fire and pulling the pack with their food to her. She was done with this place, wanted nothing more to do with it, and they had to realize this, "But Andraste was a simple, noble woman who was doing what she felt right and I think she'd find it ridiculous for people to make such a fuss over mere ashes. She's dead and gone; remember her good life and accomplishments, but let the dead rest in peace."

Leliana was looking at her in shock and Genitivi's expression was slightly pityingly. Wynne was just as surprised as the Orlesian by this outburst while the others nodded with approval and Alistair sank beside her to snag a piece of ham and slice of cheese.

"You really believe that, Ffion?" Leliana was asking, still not sure she had heard the Warden correctly.

Ffion was quiet for a moment, thinking again of what she had seen in the Gauntlet. _And what of your family?_ A little voice asked. _Are you letting _them _rest in peace? _She shrugged that away and nodded firmly.

"I do," She replied, tossing some jerky to Tilly, "Like I said, Genitivi, I won't stand in the way of whatever you decide here, but I do have to warn you. You had told us to keep heading up in those passages, so they didn't get completely scourged. There are quite a few dragonlings to watch for, there's probably an odd drake or two still, and who knows how many cultists are left. Oh, and in the pass between the peaks, there's an adult dragon that's nested. She didn't bother us; Zevran guessed that she was just coming back from hunting. But you'll want to call for help before turning this into a safe haven for your pilgrims."

Genitivi was arching his brows at Ffion's flippant tone. It was clear that he was rethinking his initial respect for her and he didn't like that she was willing to leave 'his pilgrims' to the dangers of a mountain cavern and adult dragon. It didn't seem a very hero-like thing to do, and he never would have thought that she would merely accomplish her own gains and move on without considering those coming behind her.

"Indeed," He replied, "I'll make sure to keep that in mind."

Ffion glanced up at him from the orange that she was peeling, surprised by the dry tone.

"I don't mean any offense," She said, "We just didn't have the time. Redcliffe is waiting for our return and who knows the state of the Arl now. Anyway, we don't have time to argue. I'd rather get clear of the village tonight considering that we killed its revered father and elders."

"You think they won't be waiting up for us?" Sten questioned.

"Oh, I know they will be," Ffion was fastening the pack again and handing it to him so he could load Syd once more, "But it would be so much easier to sneak through nightfall as opposed to daylight."

"So that's it?" Genitivi asked, watching as they prepared to leave.

"That's it," Alistair replied, "Are you coming along? You're more than welcome, we'll keep you safe."

The brother shook his head, gesturing to his paperwork with one hand. He smiled a little, knowing that this feeling of annoyance was rather ridiculous. These people had saved his life and had the faith to approach Andraste's temple. And their return meant that they had been found worthy. He had no right to grudge their justified decision to continue on the path that would save Ferelden from the devouring Blight.

"No, I'm staying put," He said finally, "Thank you for your concern, but I believe that the village will suffer greatly without Eirik. He used more thuggery and fear to control the people than reverence for Andraste and reassurance that they were doing the right thing in protecting this place. I don't think many of them would cause you trouble. They won't know what to do without an all powerful leader telling them what to think and say."

Ffion nodded and extended her hand to him.

"Well, then, I wish you all the best, Genitivi, and thank you for your help. We never would have gotten this far without you."

"I should be thanking you," The brother replied and smiled genuinely, "And when you make it to Denerim again, be sure to look me up."

"I will," The Warden promised.

Alistair shook his hand as well and Wynne and Leliana both exchanged a few words with him while the others followed Ffion's lead. Their little excursion into the Frostbacks was finally over.

* * *

Ffion pulled the heavy folds of the cloak closer to her neck and hunched towards the fire. The trip down the Frostbacks was cold and miserable, but the people of Haven had not given them trouble. The first night they made camp early, having traveled through the previous night, and now they were coming closer to the foothills. Ffion had been surprised to realize that summer was starting to draw to a close. She had been so wrapped up in everything else that it was somehow strange to discover that life was still going on as usual around them.

And now, she was sitting her watch, the medallion she had picked up on the Gauntlet clasped between her palms. She was studying the pearly surface, waiting for those glimpses of her family's features and was heartsick when nothing appeared. It had been this way since they left Andraste's urn and she wondered if it was her last foolish thought that had driven the magic from the medallion. She closed it in one fist and pressed it against her forehead, hearing her father's words again, and wishing that the pain would recede to the dull throb that it had been before they ventured to Haven and the temple. And knowing that the Guardian and Sten had both been right, knowing that she could only heal when she was willing to let the deaths go, was just crushing her heart to nothing. It might be giving her the strength to face off with the bastard Howe, but at what cost to her own health?

"Rinna," A honeyed voice was saying and Zevran was dropping beside her, extending a flask of wine.

Ffion looked up at him in surprise, dropping her hands to her lap.

"What?" She asked and heard the emotion in her tone.

"Her name was Rinna," The Elf repeated and his amber eyes were on the fire, "That Guardian dug deep within all of us, yes? And he asked me about my killings and started on one in particular. That was Rinna."

"I don't understand," She said slowly, still trying to pull herself from those morose thoughts, "Why are you telling me this?"

His eyes met hers and they were serious again for one of a handful of times that she had ever seen.

"You looked like you needed a distraction," He told her, his shoulder brushing hers as he reached for a long limb and began poking at the fire, "That chasm the Guardian opened is terrifying, yes? I will help you step back from its ledge."

Ffion blinked at him, her lips parting.

"It's really that obvious, huh?" She asked wryly.

"My dear innocent, I truly believe you couldn't hide anything from us," The Elf answered and smiled gently at her. The firelight was gleaming off her chocolate hair and shadowing the clear grey eyes that were so striking in her small face. Her full lips looked so soft and inviting, it took almost all of his willpower to keep from leaning over and finding out for himself. Instead he turned back to the flames and started speaking in a smooth voice whose cadence would rival Leliana's, "Rinna came to the Crows the year before I was sent here to take care of you Wardens. She was an orphaned city Elf and every inch the street urchin. I became… enamored of her and took her under my wing. She was so eager to prove herself and was a very quick learner and soon it was so much more than a mentor and protege relationship. We became lovers and I do not remember ever feeling that way about anyone. There had always been trysts, of course, and naturally one must be a very good actor to be an assassin. Sex was cheap in the Crows and just another weapon; a fact that I had always known and was to later find a brutal truth," He paused in the story as the log he pushed against collapsed and sent sparks shooting into the frigid air. Ffion was studying his profile avidly and she was struck by the hard lines that had always before been creased in a wicked grin or delighted laughter, "My other partner in our work and sometimes lover, Taliesen… A man, which should come as no surprise to you now; found us an assignment that would give Rinna a chance to prove herself in the ranks. I was quick to accept it and told Taliesen that I would be taking her along. At the time I did not see any dissatisfaction in him, though it had to have been present. I was so blinded by my desire to see Rinna do well that nothing else mattered. We arranged for the contract to be initiated and everything went in our favor that night until we had to send Rinna ahead to reconnaissance. Taliesen waited until that moment to tell me that Rinna was not what she seemed. According to him, she had been plotting against the Crows for months, a trespass payable only with death, and was unveiling her final betrayal that night, with us. It made so much sense to me; it was a Crow move, make no mistake about that, and when Rinna returned to our checkpoint, Taliesen confronted her. She denied the accusations, of course, and looked to me to help her… I refused," Zevran let out a sigh and for the second time, there was no humor in his face, and the usually bright amber eyes held a frightening darkness, "I stood aside, mocking her pleas, and allowing Taliesen to torment her before he slit her throat… Gods forgive me, I even spat on her as she lay in a pool of her blood. I was so angry about her betrayal that there was no room in my heart for any other emotions. Taliesen and I finished the contract and returned to the Crows, where I found out the truth… Rinna was not the traitor, she had been completely innocent, and I had mocked, spat on, and damned her… Quite possibly the only woman I have ever truly loved. It would have been so easy to retire from the Crows as long as she was by my side, and when I demanded that my superiors find the real traitor, I was told in no uncertain terms that one Crow, so low on the ladder, was not worth their efforts. Even Taliesen, my dear friend," He sneered the word, his voice sarcastic again but in the same dark way of his eyes, "He was merely happy to have me to himself again and I could not talk to him about the episode either. In his own words, it was 'good riddance to the bitch for standing in the way.' I did try to return to the field, but I saw Rinna in each contract, and when I heard that there was a price on the head of the Wardens, I saw this as an ultimate escape. Facing off with the best warriors in Ferelden is a surefire way to kill oneself and what happens? I am shown mercy," He was smiling wryly at her, his eyes starting to dance again like they should, "Is that not ironic? I left Antiva because of a woman and now am tied to Ferelden because of one. You agree, my dear?"

Ffion's cheeks were flushed, but by her shining eyes, it was clear that she was touched by his loyalty. She leaned towards him, not noting how his eyes widened with surprise, and put one arm around his neck, kissing his cheek. She embraced him briefly, smelling his leather armor and the odd, almost minty wash that he used on his skin. He was completely still for a moment, struck by the innocence that existed in this rather ruthless little woman, and then he wrapped one arm around her waist and hugged her back. His cheek pressed against her silky hair and he closed his eyes as he inhaled her scent, his fingers unconsciously tightening on her. Rinna was indeed a woman that he loved and he found himself starting down that path once more with Ffion, his lover's alter-ego in so many ways, and Alistair be damned. But it was quite clear that Ffion felt more for the ex-Templar than even _she_ knew and he wasn't about to stand in the way of her happiness. She was pulling away and he reluctantly let his hand slide from her waist. It rested somewhat heavily against her hip and she didn't seem to notice as she smiled at him.

"I'm not wearing an apron, Zevran, there are no strings tying you to Ferelden," She replied softly and it took everything within him to keep from kissing her senseless, "And all I can say about Rinna is what you and Sten both told me. You can only heal when you can let go. You've guessed enough about my life from what I've said and what you've observed and… I know that you won't rest easy until you have revenge, not with that passion in your voice, and I have been able to give you your chance. I don't think you should waste it."

Zevran was cocking his head at her, drumming his fingers on her hip a little until she looked embarrassed. He left her alone and instead grabbed the flask of wine and took a swig, which made her grin.

"And you cannot follow your own advice because…?"

She flushed again, this time more in shame, and dropped her gaze. Lifting her shoulders in a shrug, she focused her attention on the medallion that she had forgotten was clasped in her hand and answered slowly.

"I'm trying… Without immediate vengeance it's difficult to just drop it, but I…" She trailed off with a sharp gasp and was suddenly gazing down at the medallion eagerly. There it was, just that quick flash, and a feeling of peace settled over her. Her eyes went back to his and she pressed the medallion to her heart, "But I'm trying. Nothing will be perfect until my family is avenged, and if it takes a little while longer than I want… well, so be it. I'll manage."

* * *

They returned to Redcliffe in the early morning six days after departing Haven, and entered the village hailed as heroes by those that were up and starting their day. The people remembered well their timely arrival and help in saving them, and Teagan couldn't stop beaming when he saw Alistair and Ffion leading the way. He caught the ex-Templar in a brotherly embrace and pressed Ffion's hand before turning the pouch of ashes over to Gaile and the castle's healer. They had been reading up on how to use the ashes and Genitivi had sent copies of all the documentation that he believed might prove useful. Which in the end, was about the best thing anyone could have done. Gaile and the healer were meticulous with their brewing of the potion and Wynne lent her own expertise as well. Alistair asked if he could be in the room when they brought Eamon back and Teagan was more than happy to allow this. Ffion and the rest stood down and took the opportunity to enjoy real furnishings and hot baths. Recalling the Arl ended up being an all-day ordeal and when he finally opened his eyes, the healers left the family alone to reunite in private.

Ffion was stretched across a couch in the library, actually having time to read for the first time in weeks, with Tilly sprawled on the flagstones beside her and third glass of wine in hand, when Valena appeared in the doorway. Her green eyes were bright with happiness and she smiled broadly when the Warden met her gaze.

"It's done, Warden," The girl said, "And the Bann is asking for you."

Ffion set the goblet aside and marked her place in the book, well aware of how ridiculous that was considering she probably wouldn't be coming back to it. She got to her feet, Tilly beside her, and followed Valena out of the room. She could smell the wonderful supper that was still being picked over, mostly by her own companions, and she found herself missing this life terribly. Despite her ease of slipping into the 'roughing it' life, she was still the daughter of a nobleman and she was used to having any whims answered, sleeping in a real bed, and having hot baths ready within moments. She felt fairly justified in missing that.

The girl led her up to the private quarters and she knocked briefly on one of the doors before admitting the Warden and her hound. This was a sitting room and office in one and the big windows looked to the south and west, sure to flood the room with sunlight during the day. Teagan was leaning against the big desk beside Alistair, both of whom smiled at her, and Isolde was beaming from her perch on the arm of her husband's chair. One of her hands was grasping his as though he would disappear if she let go and Ffion was turning her attention to the Arl. He was a very distinguished looking man with a strongly featured face and piercing blue eyes. His illness and comatose existence had taken its toll; his face was thin and pale, and his hair had turned from its dark reddish brown to a silver-grey. His lined face was creased in a smile when he looked at her and Ffion saw the man that she last met when she was seven years old and furious with Gilmore for dipping the end of her braid in his ink jar…

"Warden Ffion," His pleasant voice said and he beckoned her closer, "Redcliffe is in your debt and I owe you my life. Whatever we can do for you, you need only ask."

"Thank you, my lord," She replied with a slight bow and then got right to the root of their problem, "What we need help with is Loghain. I'm sure Alistair mentioned that we have the support of the Dwarves and the Circle, but if Denerim is lost to us…" She spread her hands, "It won't mean anything."

The Arl was nodding his head in agreement, his blue eyes rather distant as he thought that over.

"I agree," He said finally, "Teagan and Alistair have both been filling me in on your adventures and Loghain's most current atrocities. What we need is someone with a stronger claim on Maric's throne than the general and Anora."

Silence fell over the room and Ffion had to fight to keep from looking at Alistair. As it turned out, no one had to make the Arl's words any clearer. The desk creaked a little as the ex-Templar pushed away from it and stood straight. His honey eyes were wide with disbelief and he glanced around at all of them before he started arguing.

"You can't mean… me?" He said slowly, "No, no, no way. I never wanted Maric's throne, never wanted anything to do with him. He ignored me and I was able to do what I wanted with my life. It worked for both of us. No, I would be horrible and-"

"Don't be ridiculous, Alistair," Ffion cut in, her annoyance spiking, "It's not like your uncle's going to stick you in your father's place and then desert you."

Alistair was looking at her in startled surprise.

"You're on their side?" He asked and then his face flushed with anger, "I told you who my father was because I thought you were the one person who would understand how I felt. That was a mistake."

"Alistair," Eamon's quiet voice had such a note of inbred command that it was not to be ignored and the ex-Templar was wincing at the disappointment in his uncle's face. The Arl was getting to his feet, waving for his wife to stay seated, "Even if Ffion had been plotting this all along there is no need to berate her for it. She is trying to do what she believes is right and I agree with her. You are not the first member of royalty that has been resistant to the idea of inheriting a throne and I'm afraid there's no way around this."

Alistair was throwing his hands up in frustration, more angry than Ffion had ever seen him, and that included their horrible argument in the Deep Roads.

"Yes, there is," He replied sharply, "I just won't-"

"Alistair, it's going to happen," Ffion interrupted in a tone to match his and didn't shy away from his dark glare, "Teagan and I decided that this would be the best course to take before we left for Orzammar. And now that the Arl is back to us, we can set things into motion. He's the best one to take care of the logistics of this."

The ex-Templar dropped his hands and just that quickly, his anger went from blazing hot to pure ice. He drew himself up and if Ffion hadn't been so annoyed, she would have felt bad that she was causing him so much grief. But her frustration matched his and she had learned long ago that she was a hundred times more stubborn when she was worn out like she was now.

"So you have my life all neatly planned out, do you?" Alistair was shaking his head as his gaze went around the room, "And my future is tied up with a neat bow, that's great. I guess I should be thanking you for giving me this opportunity to make an absolute ass of myself and drive Ferelden into deeper trouble than she's already in."

Ffion was rolling her eyes, unable to help it. She was not one to condone self-pity and she wasn't going to start now, no matter how much Alistair was coming to mean to her. She gave Teagan a small shrug and spread her hands, wanting to get out and away from this situation before she truly lost it.

"Self-pity doesn't become you, Alistair," She told him bluntly and saw how his eyes flickered with something akin to uncertainty, "And I'm only making this situation worse. I've had my say, you know how I feel, so I'll leave you with the Arl and Teagan to figure out the details. Besides, I need some fresh air and I have a promise to keep."

She turned about on her heel and left the room before anyone could say anything else. She wasn't sure why she had decided to go after Sten's lost sword _now,_ but she became a little unpredictable when she was drinking and this was a good distraction for her, so she sought out the Qunari. He was just leaving the dining hall and though he didn't smile at her, his violet eyes were still as kind has they had been since their experience in the temple.

"Come on, Sten," She said shortly, "Let's go for a walk."

He frowned down at her as he fell into step beside her, Tilly trailing them. He still couldn't figure out this little woman, every time he thought he was gaining ground, she would confuse and thwart him again.

"A walk?" He asked as she threw the main door open, nodding to the guards, and started down the road towards the village, "Why now?"

"I have a promise to keep and Alistair is pissed off with me," She answered with her usual blunt honesty, taking in the sounds of the evening, "What was the bastard's name? Din, Dim… oh, right, Dwyn! We'll track him down and get your sword back."

Sten almost stopped walking as his brows shot up and he couldn't conceal his surprise. Another point to the Warden.

"Have you been drinking?" He asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer, but wondering if that was her motivation this time.

"Naturally," Again she was prompt with her response and then she was grinning up at him, "Sorry, couldn't resist. My mother would be horrified to hear me talk like this, but I spent way too much time with my brother and best friend… more time than she liked and, well, my language suffered. Don't worry, Sten, I'm not drunk. Just angry and frustrated enough to… let go a little."

He was looking down at her with an entirely unreadable expression and then he gave her nod. They were heading down the hill into town and he couldn't help but like the Warden a little bit more.

"Understood," He replied finally, "So, where do we start looking for this… bastard, was it?"

She grinned, her cheek dimpling.

"Valena said he lives down off the docks," She said as they skirted the Chantry and headed towards the lake shore, "I'm pretty sure it's the third house down the alley here."

They found the house with little trouble, but when they knocked, the inhabitants were less than inclined to open the door.

"Look, if this is Dwyn, we have some business to discuss," Ffion called through the door, "It's about a sword that you have for sale."

There was a brief silence and then the sound of a tankard hitting the table and footsteps on the wooden floor. The door was pulled open a crack and a red headed Dwarf appeared. His hair was much darker than Oghren's, but his bleary eyes told them that he was enjoying the same affair with alcohol that their Dwarf enjoyed.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He asked, his voice more cultured than they expected.

"I was told, outside of Orzammar of all places, that you bought a Qunari sword off of one of the merchants there and might have it for sale," Ffion answered his question as though they were discussing the weather and not standing in the dark evening outside a shabby little dockside home with the owner glaring malevolently at her, "I'd like to see it, please."

Dwyn's brows shot up and they saw that the two men seated at the table behind him were getting to their feet. It seemed that this Dwarf had enough trouble in his life that he felt he needed extra help. His hazel eyes were amused and annoyed in the same instant and he started pushing the door closed.

"I don't know where you heard that story, woman, but you're talking shit to me," He said gruffly, "I don't have any blades for sale, Qunari or otherwise. Go pester someone else."

Sten put one hand out, stopping the door without an effort, and making the Dwarf look up at him in alarm.

"The sword is Asala, it is mine, and if it is not returned, I am ripping the door off the hinges," He responded; rather calmly for him.

Dwyn had had enough alcohol to feel genuine trepidation about this Qunari doing exactly what he claimed. Tilly was growling softly and Ffion's knives were flipped into her palms without a sound. Even though it would be three against three, Dwyn and his companions had been drinking much more than Sten and Ffion and there was no doubt that the fight would be in their favor.

"I'd listen to him," The Warden was saying cheerfully, "He doesn't have much patience and when he loses his temper here, your arms will be joining your door."

The Dwarf hesitated a moment longer and then waved to one of his men in surrender. Sten hadn't lifted his hand from the door and Dwyn didn't seem to want to leave it unprotected. The man he motioned to was disappearing briefly, which made Ffion a little nervous, but he returned only with a huge, sheathed sword which he handed over to Dwyn. He grasped it firmly for a moment, looking up at Sten as some of his trepidation eased.

"I can't just hand it over to you," He said reluctantly, "I mean, it's not like I got it for free and - hey!"

Sten plucked it from his hands and stepped away from the door as Ffion slipped one knife away and tossed the Dwarf a little coin bag. He caught it nimbly and the Warden gave him a mock bow.

"Thanks for cooperating," She said and turned without another word.

Sten fell in beside her, the sword held lovingly in both hands.

"You should not have paid for it," He told her abruptly, "It is my property and since I am not dead, it belonged with me once more."

"There were only three sovereigns in that bag," The Warden answered, half expecting to hear angry voices trail after them, "That's the beauty of not counting out the coins in plain sight. Asala, huh? It's pretty, what does it mean?"

The Qunari realized he would just have to get used to Ffion's surprises and he was so thrilled to have his sword back in his hands, that nothing really mattered anymore, for now. He was wrapping one huge hand around the hilt and sighing with relief when it still fit him perfectly.

"Roughly translated, it means soul," He responded, "It was crafted to fit into my hand and no one else's. Ffion, I believe it is time to tell you how I lost Asala. I have already explained that I came as vanguard and we were tasked with investigating the Blight. The Darkspawn attacked my company near Lake Calenhad and I was the sole survivor. My rescuers were farmers that lived some miles from the Tower and when I awoke without Asala and without my brothers, I panicked. You have seen my temper and I simply… snapped. The Guardian did not lie; a family was slaughtered, and that was my doing. I am not making excuses and I never will. I did fail my people, I live with the regret of killing those innocents and I turned myself in, fully expecting to die in agony. What choice did I have? And then you came along and… And like with the Elf and those people in the Tower, you showed me a mercy that I neither deserved nor will ever be able to repay. There, you have your answer, and I hope that… well, nevermind. You have always pressed until you have found the truth and no one has been able to sway you completely. I respect this and enjoy that there is at least one constant in my life now."

Ffion was looking up at him, expressionless. She blinked as she realized that they had stopped walking and started forward again before answering.

"Alistair said we became a collection agency for crazies," She finally said slowly, "But I think it's more for unfortunates and… well, criminals. Not that I mind. I mean, during a time of war you need all the help you can find and if you have to raid the prisons, you have to raid the prisons. Honestly, Sten, I don't think any less of you. Even with your desire for a punishment, anyone would leap at the chance of freedom. Ask any but the most deranged masochists and you'd find I'm right. If you find your retribution, or your means of repaying Ferelden for what was taken from her, I will just be pleased that I could help my country."

They were climbing back up to the short road that led to the castle's draw bridge. Sten was looking down at her in absolute wonder, for this first time in his life questioning his peoples' teaching on the intelligence of the human race and the role of women in particular. A little voice in his head was telling him that Ffion was the type to find a way to be the exception to every rule, but he ignored that. There was no way that someone with her inherent compassion for others and tendency to leap without looking in defense for the underdog, would spend her time coming up with a way around every conceivable situation that would ever arise.

"You, Ffion the Warden, are quite the woman," He said at last, speaking slowly. He wasn't used to complimentary speech and it was made worse when she looked up at him with a smile, "I keep trying to find a way to disagree with your principles and you make it more and more difficult. It's most frustrating."

She chuckled, prodding him with an elbow. They were crossing into the castle courtyard and starting up the flight of steps to the main door. The soldiers posted at either side saluted them and one stepped forward to open the castle to them.

"I keep my promises and delight in being a mass of contradictions. That should help you understand a little bit better… maybe. Oh, and I do have one more question to ask you, since you're in a… better mood, I guess," She ignored the way he tried to cool his previous warmth and darken his violet eyes, "You called me 'kadan' in Andraste's temple. I know some Qunari words; curses, again thanks to my brother and Gil - my best friend, but I've never heard that. Can I ask what it means?"

Sten thought that over, looking at the sword clasped in both hands before he nodded and met the Warden's gaze squarely.

"There is no word in the common tongue for it," He answered, still speaking deliberately as though he was afraid he would use the wrong word, "The rough translation of it means 'dear to the heart.' It is a word that is used among brothers and sisters in blood and in duty. You fit into the latter and your conduct in the Gauntlet was unmatched. I am proud to call you thus."

Ffion's smile turned gentle and she touched his arm briefly.

"You'll be okay, Sten," She told him, "You made your mistakes, like us all, but… you'll be fine. Now, I'm going to bed and I'll see you in the morning. Good night."

"Good night," He replied and then added as she started through the hall towards the stairs that led to the second floor, "And, Ffion, my thanks. My very deep and grateful thanks."


	51. Chapter 51

**A/N:** Happy Memorial Day to all! Hope all is well with everyone and enjoy!

* * *

Eamon and Teagan were still trying to make Alistair see their side of the issue the next afternoon even after they spent most of the night arguing. The ex-Templar was putting up a fight and though they were slowly gaining ground, it was a steep, uphill battle. He was polite but cool towards Ffion and the Warden felt the sting though she tried to shrug it off. Alistair had been her partner in this from the moment it started and they shared a bond that she couldn't hope to have with her other companions. The taint that was coursing through both their veins would forever link them, no matter what else might happen, and not being able to talk to him with the ease they always shared was more of a loss than she would have believed it to be.

Luckily for her, the awkward pauses at the supper table didn't last long. One of Eamon's soldiers was approaching their end of the table and Alistair's annoyed curse was drowned out by the crude joke Zevran was muttering in Ffion's ear as a way to pull her from that encroaching ledge. It cropped up so often throughout the day and he was worried he was going to run out of those lewd jokes that called her back before she toppled into the abyss. Maybe he'd just have to put his head together with Oghren's and see what the Dwarf's arsenal held… The Warden laughed out loud, shoving his shoulder as the guard stood patiently to one side.

"That's awful," Ffion scolded even with that dimpling grin and dancing grey eyes, "There's no way-"

"They can wait," Alistair's voice was even more cross as jealousy shot through him. His honey eyes were on the soldier, "I want to finish eating first."

"I'm sorry, Warden Alistair," The man said slowly, a little bit fazed at the ex-Templar's sharp voice but too professional to allow it to really show, "But the Arl was asking for Warden Ffion. If you're available, serah?"

Ffion was surprised at this and she glanced at Alistair briefly before downing the last of her wine and getting to her feet. Tilly immediately left Wynne's side of the table where she had been getting little bits of pork and was at her lady's side.

"Sure," She answered.

The guard led the way up to the office room that she had been summoned to the night before, but this time it was only Eamon waiting for her. He was sitting behind that large imposing desk but he looked up with the same warm smile as she was announced. She gave him a little bow and waited until he finished with his writing.

"You must be wondering why I asked just you to come up here," He wasn't asking and his blue eyes met hers as he sealed the letter he finished.

"Well, yeah, a little," She paced to the desk, Tilly snuffling around the corners of the room.

The Arl sat back in his chair and surveyed her with an intensity that made her feel more self-conscious than she had for some time. His eyes seemed to pierce right through her and her heart sank a little as she realized what was going on.

"Alistair doesn't know who you are, does he?" Eamon finally asked, confirming Ffion's suspicions.

The Warden's hands tightened in front of her and her grey eyes didn't drop from his. She parted her lips, prepared to deny this, to play dumb, and something made her stop. This man had been a friend and ally of her father's, had always been loyal to Ferelden and her people, couldn't she return the favor? The medallion was resting against her chest and it seemed to warm as the thought crossed her mind.

"No," She answered quietly and surprised herself by the answer, "He doesn't. The others don't either, though I'm sure some of them have guessed something. And, ser, I'd like to keep it that way, please."

"I thought perhaps you'd done it on purpose," He was speaking quietly and then getting to his feet and motioning her to follow him. They approached the fireplace that was in the center of the wall behind the desk and he poured two glasses of ale, continuing even though his eyes were on his work, "Sit, please, and don't trouble yourself. I won't tell anyone. Not even Teagan has guessed and he was always fond of your brother. They used to wreak havoc when the Teyrn and Fergus came to see us."

Ffion was smiling sadly as she thanked him for the ale and settled into the chair more comfortably. Tilly was dropping at her feet, her warm weight just touching her lady's toes.

"Thank you, Arl," She answered, this time for his promise. She swirled the contents of her mug for a moment before pressing on, "You are aware of what the bas… What Howe did, right? I mean, I'm well aware that news is arriving later and later, and probably more skewed, thanks to the Blight. But I'm sure the village has heard what happened in Highever?"

"Indeed," Eamon was slowly sinking into the chair opposite, welcoming the cozy warmth of the small fire in the grate. He was looking at Ffion again and seeing the resemblance to Bryce Cousland in her clear grey eyes and smooth brow, while Eleanor was in the set of her jaw and small, rather round face, "Yes, we know what happened, and… you need to know this, Ffion. Though, maybe you want to take a couple of sips of ale before I go on."

Ffion cocked her head at him, sitting a little straighter. She searched his gaze and her smile was even more faint.

"After the horrors I've seen in this world, all the deep dark places in our physical surroundings and what exists in people's hearts, I don't think this will really make any difference, however…" She took two swigs of the ale and then tipped the mug in Eamon's direction, "Right, go ahead."

And in the mischievous twinkle in her eyes, that sudden dismissive irrelevancy, he could see Fergus, who had always been ready with a smart comment and had a passion for playing pranks. But the Arl was sure that this was more a mimicry of her current companions. Even as a young girl, those few times he met her, she was polite and mature, always willing to visit with him and eager to make her father proud. Which was never in any form of doubt. Bryce had been entirely wrapped around Ffion's little finger and he held her in the palm of his hand. Eamon didn't think he would ever see a family that was as close as himself and Teagan, and then Isolde and Conner, but the Couslands had seemed to have everything, to have done everything right, and this was why it was so hard to believe the rumors that his brother had relayed to him.

"Well, after Teagan told me what had happened, my one question was: why would Loghain allow Howe to return to the fold without facing the consequences of his actions? He had destroyed the one family and venerable powerhouse that would be very detrimental to our success in driving the Darkspawn back. Your parents had led Highever into more prosperity than she had seen in decades and I couldn't understand why the massacre of such a financially secure arm of Ferelden would be okay. Not to mention the loss of a just and fair Teyrn and Teyrna and the murder of their good family. Teagan was able to answer that for me," He hesitated, meeting her gaze squarely. The Warden was sitting straight, her head held high, and it looked as though she was keeping her emotions on a very tight lead. Her fingers were pressed against the mug so that the tips of them were white and he wondered how strong that lead was, "Ffion, there was a false conspiracy and more than a few accusations that are completely fabricated. Apparently Howe had papers that were sealed by your father and these were correspondence with the Orlesians. You know your family's history and the land you occupied far better than anyone else in Ferelden; I know how your mother and father felt about their children learning their heritage. And it seems that Howe was trying to make it look like the Teyrn was ready to prod Highever against Ferelden once more, claiming independence for the northern lands, and he needed support from Orlais to do so."

Ffion couldn't hold her tongue anymore. She sat forward, eyes blazing, and slammed her mug down on the table before her. Ignoring the ale that slopped onto her fingers, she shot to her feet.

"Father would never-"

"I know, Ffion, and Teagan knows, too," He interrupted gently, "He thinks that the other nobles could not accept Howe's words without a grain of salt. They find it hard to believe Bryce Cousland, who fought so hard to rid Ferelden of the Orlesians, would turn around and betray his country with them, especially at a time when we need solidarity."

The Warden began pacing beside their chairs, too wound up by this news to stay seated.

"That bastard!" She said fiercely and was sure she would have grabbed one of her knives if they weren't tucked away in her room, waiting to be strapped back to her belt again, "He was supposed to be Father's friend and he…" She spat a sharp word that Eamon was sure would make any other woman, and probably some men, blush to their roots, "I'm sorry, go on, Eamon. Unless that's it?"

"Well, that's the root of it, at least," He answered, hardly blinking at her use of his familiar name, not that he minded. It was just another trait of her father's that was so refreshing to see, "We don't even think that Loghain believes this, but Howe has always been a brilliant politician and his arrogance and ambition, while off-putting to most, is unmatched. He is what the general needs now to help him with that aspect of ruling as Anora's regent. And so it's not too surprising that Loghain has willingly turned a blind eye to what the Arl did so that he can have him on his side."

"That just puts the Coward General on the same level as that…" She was sill pacing with short, quick strides and at Eamon's startled chuckle, she managed a small smile, "Sorry, Alistair started calling him that and it just kind of stuck."

Eamon nodded his head, amused, and glad to see that Ffion was a little distracted now. The fierce light that entered her eyes was so one-tracked, he had half expected her to jump from the window and run all the way to Denerim to take Howe down. That was definitely _not_ recommended and her mention of Alistair helped him to switch tactics.

"Speaking of Alistair," He began pleasantly, as though they were discussing an old friend they hadn't seen for some time, "I think he is starting to come around to our thinking, but he's still very resistant."

Ffion paced back to her chair and placed her hands on the back of it, not sure if she was ready to sit again. Her grey eyes were still blazing, but they were losing some of their heat. Lifting her shoulders, she spoke rather absentmindedly.

"We all have to do things we don't want to do."

"Precisely," He replied briskly, "I think what upset him the most was the fact that he was kept out of your planning with Teagan. He hasn't hid his appreciation of your trust or the fact that he respects you and, if I can be bluntly honest, I think he felt rather betrayed by the way it was handled."

Ffion's face reddened with shame and she tightened her hands on the chair, inclining her head.

"I figured that," She answered slowly, "But Teagan seemed to think it was best to just come to a consensus and then wait for you to help us convince him. I didn't mean to hurt him, which he should know well enough."

"And he does," Eamon's voice was gentle again, seeing that Alistair meant more to the Warden than she was letting on. It wasn't what his nephew felt for her, not yet anyway, but there was definitely a little seed of something there, and he couldn't stop the wheels in his head from turning. If everything went well, if they won this battle and came out ahead, the joining of the Highever Teyrnir and the king of Ferelden would be… But he was getting far too ahead of himself, "But I think he misses having someone to talk to. I know he has been confiding in Wynne, but she is on our side of this issue and has been pushing him as well. Perhaps you should try. Don't attempt to sway him one way or the other, just listen to him."

She smiled wryly at him as she plopped down in the chair and tucked the toes of her boots under Tilly's heavy weight again.

"I'm kind of the bad guy here, Eamon," She replied, "Remember? I'm on your side, too."

"I honestly don't think he's too worried about that anymore. Like I said, just listen to him, let him vent a little. And we'll keep working on him."

Ffion was shaking her head, still not sure they were on the right track here, but a knock on the door interrupted her next thought. Eamon called an answer and Conner was flying into the room and bounding up onto his father's lap. Tilly immediately got up and went to lick the little boy's toes; she absolutely adored him and Conner started giggling as the Mabari's tongue tickled him. Ffion got to her feet, surrendering her chair to Isolde who smiled warmly at her.

"Well, my boy, what are you still doing up?" Eamon was questioning as Conner wriggled about and settled himself on his father's knee.

"You promised me a story, Daddy," He answered promptly and then looked shyly at Ffion, "Can it be one about the Wardens? One with a big battle and heroes and Dwarves that drink ale and wenches and-"

"Conner!" Isolde's shock was akin to Oriana and Eleanor's when Oren started acting like his father and Ffion's heart twisted a little, "Where did you hear such things?"

"From Ser Oghren," The boy answered, "He always talks to me."

"Oops," Ffion said with a laugh. She sent Conner a conspiratorial grin. They had formed an alliance the first afternoon the companions returned to Redcliffe when the boy had materialized in the practice yard where Ffion was throwing knives into one of the targets. He had asked to be shown how to do it and she was more than happy to teach him. He had been her little shadow since then and after his lessons with Gaile, who stuck around to teach him how to control his magic until he could be sent to the Circle, he would seek out Ffion or Alistair, whom he had started idolizing, "Never you mind him, Conner. He tells tall tales to upset little boys' mothers. But definitely hold out for a story about the Wardens, and make sure that your uncle Alistair is the hero. He'd like that."

"And you, too?" Conner's green eyes were shining, looking so much like Oren's.

"You'll have to ask your father. He'll be telling the story."

"Of course, Conner," Eamon's voice was tender and Ffion knew that was her cue.

"Thank you for the advice, Arl, and I wish you a good night. Come, Tilly."

The Mabari reluctantly left the family and followed her lady as they headed back towards the main level of the castle. In the long hall that their rooms were off of, Sten and Zevran were coming Ffion's way, assisting a stumbling, completely sloshed Oghren. She blinked in surprise as they came even with her and the Dwarf sent her a sloppy grin. When she left the table, he had been a little tipsy, which wasn't unusual, and she wondered for the first time how long she and Eamon had been talking.

"Hiya, boss," Oghren greeted. He tipped forward quite suddenly and would have landed in a heap at her feet had Sten not grabbed him more firmly.

"How in the world…" She trailed off, at a loss.

"He dared me," Sten answered with a shrug as Zevran chuckled, "He wished to know who could drain a tankard more quickly and when I won, he thought I had cheated. So, one turned into two, and-"

"And two turned into three, three into four; and so on and so forth," Zevran interrupted smoothly, "In no time our smelly little friend was under the table."

"Me?" Oghren's eyes were suddenly fierce, but it was more comical than anything, considering that he couldn't see straight, "I coul' drink any one o' ya un'er th' table. Jus' ya try me."

"Of course you can, Oghren," Ffion replied soothingly, "Now, go and rest up. If we don't leave tomorrow, it'll probably be the day after and you might need the time to recover."

"Righ', righ'," Oghren, still clinging to the Qunari, was forgetting the slight already, "G'nigh', cap'n."

Zevran was able to gracefully extricate himself from them and he was grinning as Sten grumbled to Ffion.

"I do not believe that I agreed to this part of our quest," The Qunari said as Oghren's fingers bit into his side.

"Asala, Sten," The Warden replied, eyes twinkling in spite of her rather cryptic words, "Helping Oghren is like helping me. And, remember, teamwork."

The Qunari pressed on, muttering under his breath, though Ffion had almost earned a smile and Zevran was chuckling again. His amber eyes were dancing, pleased that the chasm had disappeared from the Warden's face.

"All is well, I hope?" He asked, in no hurry to retire to his room.

"Yes, fine," She replied, "Eamon asked if I could talk to Alistair for him. Is he still downstairs?"

"I am not sure where Chirpy disappeared to," Zevran's eyes were fastened on her, curious about this change. The Warden had not exactly been as friendly with Alistair as usual since they arrived in Redcliffe. But the silence was more on the ex-Templar's side than Ffion's and Zevran was eager to know what had occurred, "Our well endowed Wynne asked to speak with him not long after you departed and I have not seen him since. Is there anything amiss?"

Ffion knew her face was an open book where the Elf was concerned, but at least this time she could be honest without worrying her emotions would give her away.

"Not really," She said slowly, "He's a little pissed with me and Eamon recommended that I apologize. I just thought that tonight might be a good time for it."

"Ah, well, I'm sure he will forgive our little dove. I am headed for bed. Care to join me?"

"_Good night_, Zevran," She replied firmly and was already walking away from him.

His delighted laughter followed her as she turned into her own bedroom. Tilly was letting out a surprised _woof_ and Alistair was getting to his feet from the chair beside the fireplace.

"Oh," She said in surprise, "Here you are. Good, I wanted to talk to you."

He blinked.

"Really? That's weird. I've been waiting around to talk to you," He answered.

Ffion chuckled, glad that they were at least able to speak civilly to each other.

"Should we draw straws to see who goes first?" She asked as she came into the room and perched on the edge of her bed to tug her boots off.

Alistair was watching her loosen the straps of the soft leather boots and remembering doing that same thing in Orzammar while she sprawled on the bed, giggling, and saying that he was the first boy she'd had in her room since that friend of hers… But now was not the time for those thoughts and he clung more tightly to the anger and annoyance he felt over her plotting behind his back.

"Does this have to do with whatever Eamon talked to you about?" He asked, the cool note of his voice surprising even him. Maybe he was spending too much time with Morrigan. Horrible, spine-tingling thought that _that_ was! "I mean, did he ask you to talk to me?"

Ffion let her boots drop and propped one palm flat on the bed, tipping her head a little at him. His honey eyes were still angry and she knew she'd have to be careful here. It would be too easy to lose her temper and make everything worse.

"Yes," She pressed on quickly as the ex-Templar drew himself up and looked as though he was going to argue, "But it's not what you think, Alistair. I wanted to apologize. You're right. I went behind your back and I shouldn't have."

Alistair could see the honest feeling in her face and though that little voice in his head was telling him that she was being genuine, his frustration wouldn't let it rest so simply.

"You're right, you shouldn't have," He said and saw that her grey eyes were starting to flash, "Especially when you knew, when I told you, that I didn't want this life and one of my best days was when I was told that it wouldn't ever crop up."

Ffion bit the inside of her mouth briefly before she ventured a response.

"I know, and I'm very sorry," Her voice was soft and she was trying desperately to keep a hold on her tongue, "But Ferelden needs a solid leader she can unite under to defeat the Blight. Anora is only royalty by marriage and other than that, her one great distinction is that she's General Loghain Mac Tir's daughter. The people think she's beautiful, graceful, and all of that, but beauty and grace do not qualify one to rule a nation, and it's already quite clear that her father is the one that's ruling. And, honestly, what good has that done us? Good King Cailan is dead and it's the general's doing; the Grey Wardens were heaped with the blame and have been all but driven from Ferelden, again thanks to Loghain; the Blight is encroaching from the south, devouring the farmlands that provide Ferelden with more than seventy-five percent of her fresh produce and meats, not to mention the trade goods that are shipped to the other provinces. In all, thanks to one man's ambition and selfish desires, our land is being systematically destroyed and her people have no way of fighting back, because that man has outlawed those that are born and bred for it. Alistair, you can't tell me that this means nothing to you."

Alistair's eyes were flickering and his anger was dissolving into admiration. Ffion was well-spoken and passionate, her grey eyes clear and honest, and he wondered if he could talk her into sticking around when, and if, they won this war and he took over. He was blinking at the suddenness of this thought, realizing for the first time that his stepping forward was going to happen no matter how fiercely he argued. He walked slowly across the room and settled onto the mattress beside her, studying his fingers as he answered.

"You're right, I can't," His gaze met hers and he saw that the trip back to Redcliffe, the time spent in the sun, had sprayed her nose and cheeks with little specks of freckles and her grey eyes were all the more stunning, "And… I'll try, Ffion. I'm not saying I like it, I'm not saying that this still isn't the stupidest thing I've heard… ever, but I am Maric's son, though I hate that, too. And you make a great point, Ferelden needs a Theirin on the throne and I guess I just have to suck it up. Right?"

"It doesn't seem that Eamon and Teagan are going to give you much choice," She smiled at him, sitting straight and tugging the pins that were keeping her heavy braid curled into the bun, "Besides, it's like I told you: Eamon isn't going to prop you up and desert you, Teagan won't either. And, depending on what happens with the Wardens, I could stick around, too. You know, like an adviser, if you'd like."

Alistair's eyes quickened on her face again as the braid started slipping down onto her shoulder. Her tone had been a little teasing and he almost didn't dare to hope.

"Would you?" He asked softly, still searching her face for any sign of the joke.

Her smile was even more gentle as she tugged the last of the pins out and tossed her braid over one shoulder. She patted his arm with her free hand.

"Of course," She answered and then went on as his face flushed with happiness and his honey eyes became more tender than she'd seen them, "Now, your turn. What was it you wanted to tell me?"

His expression was confused for a minute, his happiness clouding his original reason for coming in here.

"Oh, right," He said and shifted on the bed as Tilly came close and settled her head into Ffion's lap, "It's about Wynne, but you've got to swear that you won't tell her I've told you. She's worried that if you find out you'll send her back to the Circle and she's determined to see this through."

Ffion was frowning at him, her lips parting.

"What-"

"Don't worry, she's not threatening to elope with Oghren or anything," He interrupted, his eyes dancing, "Though Wynne does like him, strangely enough, and Oghren did say that he was just the right height to show a human girl a good time, but… ugh. Doesn't it seem worse then Zevran? I mean, at least with him-"

He stopped abruptly as Ffion reached out and tapped his head with a grin, thrilled that he was back to sharing his silly jokes and odd quips with her.

"Focus, Alistair, focus," She said in a teasing voice and dropped her hand, "If it's not that, what's troubling her?"

Alistair was quiet for a moment. That movement was so like what had happened in Orzammar and he had thought for a split-second… _Focus, Alistair!_ This time it was the little voice in his head and he shook himself mentally before answering her.

"It's about what happened in that cavern, when she saved us all with that spell of hers. She's been feeling kind of guilty about hiding it from us and when she had the chance after you were called away, she took it. Anyway, you remember in the Circle, when that mage was concerned about Wynne being so badly hurt? Well, it turns out she actually died."

Ffion's brows went up as the ex-Templar paused in his narration. She was stroking Tilly's ears absentmindedly.

"She died?" She repeated, "But… that doesn't make any sense."

"I know. She said that for this to be even a bit believable, I had to understand some of her history. Wynne's not a mage that was found late in life, she's been in the Circle forever, and even at a young age, she had a knack for healing. She also felt that when she entered the Fade, she was protected and… watched over," He glanced sidelong at her, "I don't know how familiar you are with some of the Chantry's studies, but I've heard of this before. Most people call it the spirit of faith and there are only a few that have actually admitted to feeling it. I figured if any one of us would have a benevolent spirit watching over them, it'd be Leliana or Wynne, so it kind of fits, yeah? Anyway, when Uldred and the blood mages attacked the Circle and sent demons after those kids that were with Wynne, she fought back. The odds weren't even and one of the bastards got lucky. She doesn't remember a whole lot: she said it was just nothing for a moment and then she heard someone calling her name and she felt weightless. There was someone or something talking to her and the next thing she knew, she was blinking up at her fellow mages and conscious of everything again. She said her strength was like it had been when she was younger and she knew what had happened. The spirit that had watched over her had given her another chance and she thinks that it was for this; for helping to defeat the Blight. But she's worried that her time is running short. She told me that she knows she's living on borrowed time and she's afraid that that episode means it's wearing thin. That's why she didn't want you to know. She thinks that you'll send her right back to the Circle and she doesn't want to leave us."

"Do I really seem that mean?" Ffion asked with a wry smile, "Wynne has nothing to worry about. She's a good healer, we need her, and she's part of the company now. What would we do without her?"

Alistair smiled back, pleased. He got to his feet with a yawn. If he wasn't so tired, he'd sit on the bed and talk to her all night.

"We'd be screwed," He answered, "Are we leaving tomorrow?"

"Or the day after. You'll have to let Eamon know about your change of heart and Oghren might need a couple of days to recover."

"Right, forgot about that. So Sten won, huh? Didn't think the Qunari would concede to doing something so close to… fun, I guess."

"He's coming around," She grinned up at him, "By the time this is all over, he'll be giggling with Leliana, swapping recipes with Wynne, and as crazy about Morrigan as she is about him."

The ex-Templar shuddered a little, heading towards the door.

"Banish the thought," He said it like a prayer and sent her his crooked grin, "Good night, Ffion. And thanks, for understanding and apologizing, I mean."

"You're welcome. Good night."


	52. Chapter 52

**A/N: **Late, I'm sorry! Last weekend was kind of rough, so this chapter is quite a bit longer than usual. Enjoy and take care!

* * *

Loghain was slumped in a chair in front of the fireplace, a glass of strong red wine clasped in his hand. His grey-blue eyes traveled from the papers loosely grasped in his opposite hand to the small crackling fire. Summer was indeed departing Ferelden and the evenings had grown cool enough that the fire was a welcoming warmth. He lowered the papers to his knees and lost himself in his thoughts. The news from those nobles that had allied with him was not good. Civil war was imminent and the Darkspawn attacks were becoming more and more frequent. The unrest was stretching beyond the breaking point and for all his brilliance on the battlefield, he was at a loss here.

There was a sudden commotion outside the door and he could hear both Anora's voice and Howe's sharp retort. His daughter was entering his office without knocking and had clearly come straight from her quarters. She was wearing the pale blue robe he had given her some years ago and it was cinched tightly around her slender waist. Her blond hair was uncoiled and it tumbled around her shoulders, making her look much younger. He was struck for the thousandth time that he had produced this beautiful young woman and could only see himself in her at times like this, when she was setting her jaw stubbornly and her bright blue eyes were flashing with anger. Howe slipped in behind her, his face flushed with annoyance, and he stepped forward to speak first.

"I'm sorry, ser, for the interruption," His voice was as slippery as ever and his gaze flickered briefly to Anora with a dark expression, "But she wouldn't allow-"

"Enough, Rendon," Anora was not going to be talked down to and she waved one hand dismissively at the self-appointed Teyrn, "Father, something has to be done about this. Ferelden is on the brink of civil war and don't act surprised that I know this. I am not a child anymore, I am a queen, and you can't expect to keep me in the dark. The nobles that have not gone back to their provinces are just waiting for a chance to prove a point and use me as an example. I will not be humiliated like this. Tell me you have a plan to ease the unrest."

"He doesn't have-"

"I wasn't speaking to you," Anora interrupted Howe once more, taking another step towards her father, "Well?"

Loghain surged to his feet, his own anger spiking sharply at his daughter's impertinent demands. She didn't shy away from him when he turned to meet her glare for glare and he couldn't help feeling that little stirring of pride in her fearlessness.

"I don't have to answer to you or any of the nobles," He replied sharply, hearing the careful enunciation that the wine had brought about, "You are not in any position to make demands of me."

Anora wasn't impressed. She was studying the general with eyes that didn't miss much and her full lips parted a little.

"Are you… drunk?" She questioned with disbelief.

"And if I am?" He demanded and tossed the papers onto the low table beside the three bottles, two of which had long ago been emptied and the third less than half full, "That's not any of your concern either. Go back to bed, Anora, and leave this to me and the other nobles."

"I won't," She exclaimed, her face flushing with anger, "You can't brush me aside like I'm twelve years old again. This is ridiculous and I won't stand for it. The news-"

"Rumors!" Loghain barked, "Ferelden is behind me and I won't let you and your obsession with rumors stand in my way!"

Anora cooled just as rapidly as she had flared up at him and she crossed her arms over her chest. Her blue eyes locked on her father's and she was suddenly the spitting image of her mother, judgemental and superior.

"Rumors? That is your contention: that I am obsessed with rumors?" She repeated, "Tell me, General, was the desertion of Cailan at Ostagar a rumor?"

Loghain's face tightened, his eyes flickering. He turned to pick up his goblet again and was grateful that Howe didn't take it upon himself to answer Anora. The Teyrn would only make matters worse and he was smart enough to realize it.

"Don't ask questions that you are not ready to hear the answers to," He said quietly, his anger disappearing as images of his son-in-law flashed before him.

"I want the truth, Father," She persisted stubbornly, but her tone was much softer as she added, "Did you kill Cailan?"

He couldn't look at his daughter as he took a sip of wine and replied gruffly.

"Cailan's death was his own doing."

There was a sharp exhalation and then the quick _clicks_ of Anora's slippers as she stormed from the room, slamming the door on the one man she had believed she could trust. Her world was rapidly shrinking.

* * *

The companions left Redcliffe two days later, after Alistair had grudgingly committed himself to Eamon and Teagan's plan and Oghren was sufficiently recovered. Wynne was much better as well, the time devoted to resting restored her strength; and Ffion, kind of keeping her promise to Alistair, couldn't prevent herself from pulling the Enchanter aside and telling her in no uncertain terms that they were in this war together to the bitter end and she had no need to worry about not being allowed to see it through. Wynne had been a little suspicious at first, but the Warden was quick to plant the seed that she had been considering this since she saw the Enchanter collapse. The mage had smiled gently at her, touching her shoulder in a familiar, maternal fashion and thanking Ffion warmly. Morrigan had once more approached Ffion to remind her of her promise and the Warden had to reassure her even as she mentally cursed that evening. The road south of Redcliffe, bordering the Wilds, was not going to be easily traveled and the Arl hadn't liked their decision, but couldn't give them a better option. He agreed with Wynne about the location of the Dalish and he knew the road would be the quickest route.

So they set forth, Syd loyally plodding along behind them. Eamon had bemoaned the fact that he didn't have enough mounts for them and Ffion and Alistair both rejected his offer of those poor beasts he did have. Their contention was that the Arl would be busy enough garnering support against Loghain and allies for himself and Alistair, all the while calling the Landsmeet, so the horses would be needed more in Redcliffe than on an uncertain road with a group that was too large for them to be of any use. And Alistair added cheekily that with fall coming on, it made _way_ too much sense to ease their travels; they were Wardens, after all, and their lives were supposed to be hell and damnation, right? His uncle had merely smiled fondly at him, saw that they were supplied with all they would need, and told them not to worry about the Landsmeet until they were actually entering the great hall in Denerim and facing down Loghain in person. And they did as he said.

In spite of the absence of horses, they made decent time, though they were plagued by Darkspawn with a greater frequency the further south they trekked. The watches at night became a true test of keeping a keen eye, rather than a time to reflect on the past, present, and future, and the Wardens were jumpy and neurotic for the first few days, even Alistair. The taint was more wild and chaotic in him then it had been since he first Joined and, because of this, he wasn't the comfort to Ffion that he had been in her first days. Luckily, they had grown so used to one another that it was second nature, knowing the difference between their taint and the monsters'; but the rest of the companions were dependent on them, and a number of times, the Wardens had tumbled from their tents, ready for battle before the one on watch even realized the enemies were closing in.

The most difficult thing for Ffion, Wynne, Leliana, and even Alistair to get over was the sight of the burned out and devastated villages. More than half of those they came across had been abandoned long before the Darkspawn swept through, but those that weren't so lucky were horrible to see. In the first it was clear that the Chantry had been the villagers' refuge and the monsters had simply torched the place when they couldn't gain entry. The people that were brave enough to fling themselves from the burning building had met with the Darkspawns' blades and their sprawled bodies had been left for the carrion. Ffion would have spent the entire day burying the dead, with Leliana and Wynne's help, had Alistair not stepped into the position of authority for the first, very brief time, and herded everyone along. He wished to give these poor people the dignity of a proper burial as well, but they just couldn't spare anymore time. Eamon was going to act swiftly, calling in old favors that couldn't be brushed away, and fueling the fires against Loghain, and they had to follow their own plan of winning over that last ally. And they weren't even a hundred percent sure of where the Dalish were.

They were roughly ten miles out from the fork that would lead further south to Lothering and the ruins of Ostagar, when Ffion felt something watching them, particularly as evening began falling and the clouds rolled in to promise rain for the next day. She was walking next to Tilly, Alistair at her other side, each one companionably silent as they listened to Leliana tell an Orlesian tale of a traveling mandolin player who had fallen in love with the emperor's daughter and she with him. The daughter was promised to an enemy's son in hopes of creating a truce and, in spite of her family's attempts to keep her in seclusion, she heard the mandolin player's music and fell under its spell. The tale had everything one could hope for, (except sex, which Zevran and Oghren were quick to point out with utter disappointment). The Orlesian was just reaching the climax where the mandolin player's mandolin, which held a magic that allowed it to speak only the truth, was serenading the daughter, who had been told her lover had deserted her and was on the verge of throwing herself from her father's roof, and telling her that he was not dead, when Ffion's attention was diverted. An owl caught her eye as it settled in the top branches of a long dead tree. The whole of their surroundings was barren and disheartening and this owl was the first wildlife that the Warden had seen for two days. She stared at it for a moment and wondered how she hadn't noticed the peculiar gold color of the owl's eyes right away, a gold that was very familiar… She fell into a thoughtful silence and had to keep herself from glancing at Morrigan to see if the witch had noticed the bird as well.

Darkness was falling in earnest now and they staked camp before they lost anymore daylight. It was Leliana's turn to make supper and soon, she had the dead, rather dank air suffused with the smell of her specialty: a hare and potato stew hearty enough to fill them up on small portions. Tilly hardly left the Orlesian's side as she cooked and Ffion settled by the fire, absentmindedly twisting a loose curl about her finger. She listened to the chatter going on around her and kept her ears open for any sounds of wildlife which, oddly enough, would be out of place in this terrible, empty wasteland that the Darkspawn left in their wake. Morrigan sat beside her as they began eating and took her chance when Alistair, who was perched on Ffion's other side, started talking to Wynne.

"'Tis good to see creatures returning to this place, is it not?" She asked amiably, but her gold eyes, so like her mother's and that owl's, were glittering knowingly, telling the Warden that she had seen and knew that that had been Flemeth observing them, "It is as I said."

Ffion stifled a yawn even as she felt uneasiness sweep through her. She wasn't sure she was ready to face off with Flemeth tonight, or ever for that matter, promise or no promise. But she nodded at the witch and wasn't given the chance to go into more detail. Alistair focused on his supper again and the talk drifted to the unimportant topics it usually did after a long day. No one seemed to want to sit up for too long, they had bypassed several little villages that day and most of them had been littered with bodies of inhabitants and animals alike. It had taken its toll on all of them in its own way and Alistair was growing more and more angry with Loghain and his inadequate care for these people. Not that there was much to be done now. The only thing that could have kept the Darkspawn from sweeping through like a tide of death was if the general had not tucked tail at Ostagar and left the armies for dead

Oghren offered to take the first watch and no one argued with him. He was much better about his drinking when he had responsibilities like this, but Ffion was quite sure that the Dwarf was a functioning drunk and that was why there hadn't been an issue yet, so it was let go. Ffion, as usual, took the second watch and arranged for Alistair to follow her. Morrigan sent her an alarmed look, figuring that she would be next so that Ffion was given more time to deal with Flemeth, but the Warden shook her head minutely. She knew what she was doing and the witch would just have to trust her. Only Tilly would be accompanying her and she couldn't help but feel that this was the right thing to do. If Flemeth had watched them approach, she would see Ffion sneak off from camp and meet her nearby, she was sure, which meant that the others would still be looked after. Not that it really mattered, the taint would give her ample time to get back and call the warning. And as far as killing the old witch, she still wasn't sold on that. Her plan for the moment was to simply talk to Flemeth, seeing as how the witch had saved her, Tilly, and Alistair at substantial risk to her own neck and that had earned a benefit of the doubt… at the very least.

She was still awake when Oghren called her name and after he had retreated to his own tent and started snoring, she sat for a moment, stroking Tilly's ears, feeling only Alistair's taint tugging at her, and waiting for a sign from Flemeth. This came sooner than she had dared hope it would. There was a faint hoot from an owl a little ways off, back down the road they had been traveling and she held still, letting it hoot twice more before she was certain it was the witch. Tilly seemed to sense that there was something amiss and even Syd lifted his head and snorted softly. The Warden crept away from the fire, letting the moonlight show her the road's boundary, and praying that the clouds held off long enough for her to talk with Flemeth and get back to the warmth and comfort of her camp. She hadn't ventured very far before Tilly whined softly and the sparse bushes to her right rustled. A small, rather dull flash of light was all she saw and then a familiar scratchy voice greeted her.

"So, child, back to curse my name at last? Or is there another meaning behind this late night visit?"

Ffion blinked in the dim moonlight, letting Tilly lean against her, and wishing she could see more clearly. Flemeth stood close by and the cloud that had obscured the moon suddenly sailed away, revealing the witch a little better. She looked mostly the same, perhaps a little more threadbare and thinner than she had been, but her strange yellow eyes were luminous in the light and had lost none of their sharpness.

"Nope, the cursing ended a while ago," She answered in a voice just above a whisper, spreading her arms a little in a shrug, "For me, anyway. I'm not sure about Alistair, and this is about something else, yes. I'm here to ask you about the grimoire that had been taken by the Circle. I probably should have looked at it before handing it over to Morrigan, but I didn't really care and I had so many other things to worry about that… well, it didn't happen."

"Ah, so the lovely Morrigan thinks she has discovered my secret to eternal youth and has sent you to make sure she is not the next Flemeth," The old witch cackled, her eyes lighting up in amusement, "She finally believes that she has found someone to dance to her tune, but she's obviously mistaken. You have made no move to attack me and I don't think that you will."

Ffion bristled a little at how easily Flemeth read this situation and her automatic assumption that the Warden was nothing more than Morrigan's puppet. She mastered her tongue though and instead eyed the witch coolly.

"Are you suggesting that I dance to your tune instead?" She questioned and then pressed on before Flemeth could answer, "You know, nevermind, I'll just tell you what happened. Morrigan does think that she's discovered your secret and didn't want to risk facing you again, so she asked me to confront you instead, kill you, and then take your real grimoire. She doesn't care how I kill you; she just wants you gone, out of her life, forever. I told her that I would look into this and promised to bring the book back, but I'm very curious and more than a little reluctant. I owe you a life debt, as does Alistair and I'm not taking that lightly, but I can't break a promise either. So I decided to see if there is anyway to barter for that grimoire or something akin to it to simply appease Morrigan. I'm not going to risk losing her over something so silly to me, she's too valuable."

Flemeth studied the young Warden, seeing that her trials and the horrors she had witnessed had done nothing to kill that spirit that had so drawn the witch to her. Instead, it merely fortified Ffion's ambition and had given her an edge that would serve her well if she could only hone and perfect it. There was a darkness in the girl's past that was sending out thriving shoots to take over her future and she would need all her strength of mind to see it through. Helping her out now would also work in Flemeth's favor. If the Wardens and their allies won this war and restored Ferelden, they could prove to be detrimental to the witch accomplishing her own means and she was more than happy to strike a bargain.

"Agreed," She said briskly, never one to put up with beating around the bush, "I will give you my grimoire and you can take it back to that willful girl and then I will disappear. Tell Morrigan any story you wish, tell her I am dead and gone, put her mind at ease, and then get yourself back on your own track. The girl will be appeased and I can go back to watching and… waiting."

Ffion blinked at her, keeping the camp in the corner of her eye, and folding her arms over her chest. Her lips parted a little and she was speechless for a moment before finally finding her voice again.

"That's it?" She asked, "You're going to let it go just like that? There has to be a catch."

"Oh, there is, child, but it won't concern you," Flemeth pulled a big black book from the rumpled pack and handed it over, "The catch has everything to do with Morrigan and you needn't worry yourself."

Ffion took the heavy tome in the crook of one arm and arched her brows at the witch.

"Alright, then, we have a deal," She debated extending her hand and figured Flemeth would merely laugh at her. She inclined her head instead and gave her a small smile, "I wish you luck, Flemeth, take care."

She was turning back to the camp and Flemeth's words were quiet and full of meaning.

"You too, Warden, and keep that light in your heart burning."

* * *

The next morning as they broke down camp in a misty rain, Ffion approached Morrigan with the black tome in one arm.

"Here, Morrigan, I think you left this by the fire last night," She said in a helpful tone that gave nothing away, "I kept it in my tent so it wouldn't get rained on."

The witch turned to face her from her work of rolling her canvas tent again. She extended her hands without really looking at the grimoire and when she realized what she was holding, her gold eyes widened. From her kneeling position on the dead grass, she studied Ffion's expression for a long moment before she inclined her head.

"Thank you, Ffion," She finally said, her voice soft, "I would have hated to lose this again."

"You're welcome," The Warden was brisk, glancing behind her as the sharp smell of smoke stung her nose. Zevran raked out the ashes of their fire and Sten tied a pack to Syd, "All's well that ends well, right? Let's get going."

She didn't give the witch a chance to corner her and ask for the details of how she had recovered the grimoire. She was sure that she could get away with the lie fairly easily, Morrigan was too happy to have the book to read anything in Ffion's face, but she just wasn't in the mood to play that game. Not when she was still trying to figure out why Flemeth had just let her have the thing. She would trust to the old witch's word that there wouldn't be any comeuppance for her and she could only hope that Flemeth didn't decide to teach Morrigan her lesson while the Blight was still ongoing. That was the last thing they needed.

The stretch of road that had meandered through the Darkspawn infested wasteland was finally crossing over into little copses of woods, and was looking more and more like it was the less traveled path. After roughly two weeks on the road, they had reached the Brecilian Forest and it was well worth the wait. The rain had only lasted for a few days, but the temperatures were still dropping and it was clear that their ideal weather was drawing to a close. But the Forest seemed more than ready for the change. It was a huge stretch of woods and had remained mostly uninhabited thanks to both the Dalish and tales of ancient magic, werewolves, giants, and other such monsters, which worked in its favor. The young, straight saplings intertwined with their ancient ancestors that towered over all, twisted and gnarled by time and the change of the seasons. There were animal tracks that led here and there through the woods and some brave travelers that had parleyed with the Dalish had left a worn path that wound back and forth through roughly the first eighty to hundred acres or so of the Forest. There were hardwoods and evergreens alike and the hardwoods were already preparing for the oncoming winter. Their leaves had taken on a golden sheen that dazzled against the evergreens' pine needles and danced in the bright, slanting sunlight. The birds that had not traveled to the warmer southernmost reaches of the Forest were singing in the late afternoon and Tilly startled a pair of does from a wide, grassy clearing that the merchant path skirted. The Mabari was in love with the Forest and she danced among the trees, chasing squirrels onto branches where they would perch and scold her, and trying to sniff out hares only to make them dive back into the ground.

"I wished to escape and live among the Dalish at one point in my life," Zevran was speaking almost wistfully as his amber eyes roved the beautiful woods and late blooming undergrowth, "Shocking, yes?"

When no one else commented, Ffion decided to take the bait.

"A little," She answered and then grinned at him, "I can't imagine what you would have done to entertain yourself. With nothing to kill and knowing how devoted Dalish wives and husbands are to one another, you would have shriveled up into nothing."

Alistair snorted with laughter and Oghren grinned up at the Elf who was smiling wickedly at Ffion.

"I do not believe so," He replied easily, "The clans have become quite modern since I had that dream. When I was younger, the Dalish women were left to tend camp while the men hunted and sought out a new home. I would have been kept _quite_ busy, in more ways than one, yes?"

Leliana and Wynne were laughing with Oghren as Morrigan rolled her eyes and Ffion lifted her shoulders in mock defeat.

"So, who wants ta bet tha' the clan will 'ave somethin' fer us to clean up fer 'em?" Oghren asked as they passed another sunny clearing and Tilly went tearing away after another squirrel, rounded its nesting tree, and returned to her lady.

"After what has already occurred, the bet is hardly worth the odds," Sten replied dryly.

"The Dalish are a proud people," Wynne was still their teacher, no matter what the topic; "I don't think they would want to draw outsiders into their problems."

"Those nug-humpin' deshyrs don' like to ask surfacers either," Oghren grinned again and added, "Was tha' jus' a dream?"

"Yeah, I wish," Alistair snorted. _All except that one Maker sent moment, yeah?_

The little voice was cut short as Ffion chuckled, about to add her own two bits when Tilly interrupted them. The Mabari growled furiously and half a dozen Elves stepped from the trees, bows drawn and trained on the companions. They were dressed in thick hide armor which just barely covered the blonde that stepped forward boldly. The tattoos decorating their faces were intricate and beautiful, though the intent was obviously to intimidate, and in their leather boots, they walked without making a sound. The blonde said something sharply in a mixture of common tongue and Elvish that was too quick for the Warden to follow; but Zevran caught it and answered in the same fashion. The companions were just as surprised as the Elf and she gave him a disgruntled look before switching completely to the common tongue as her eyes, as green as new growth, landed on Ffion.

"What business do you have here?" She asked, "We will not hesitate to cut you down if you wish us harm."

"Please, we only wish to speak with your Keeper," Ffion answered quickly, holding up her hands to show she wasn't remotely inclined to reaching for her weapons; though she was half tempted to grab Tilly's collar to prevent the Mabari from causing any trouble, "My name is Ffion of the Grey Wardens and I mean to ask your clan to fulfill the treaty that was signed with the Order and help us to end the Blight."

The Elf eyed her briefly and then held up one hand to her clan members. They lowered the weapons but didn't put them away. She knocked her blonde hair from her eyes and then nodded her head.

"Very well, follow. But remember, you are watched."

Ffion returned her nod and then gave her companions, particularly Sten and Morrigan, a warning glance. They didn't seem to need this and they followed after her without a word of opposition. The Elves led them still further into the woods as the slanting sunlight began to fade. The companions didn't attempt conversation with their leaders or among one another, really; and the Elves only spoke a word here and there in that odd mix of languages. They seemed painfully aware of the fact that Zevran could understand them and that kept the talk to a minimum. So instead, the sounds of the Forest were more evident and the Elves led them from the path and in amongst the trees themselves, never mis-stepping, rustling the branches, or snapping any twigs. They trekked through the woods until the sun was setting in earnest and they finally reached the outskirts of the Dalish camp.

It was nestled in another large clearing that was scattered with a handful of the ancient trees. A few tents were staked but it appeared that most of the Elves slept outside, which made sense. These were a nomadic people and their tradesmen's' stands were built with the sole purpose of being quick and easy to break down again. In a small dip at the other side of the clearing was a rough fence and inside was a herd of what looked like stags. Their coats were a rather dusky white that shimmered in the setting sun as they grazed peacefully on the lush green grass. Behind their velvety ears horns had sprouted, twisting and curling gracefully over their muscular backs. They were breathtaking and Ffion studied them avidly when Wynne's voice startled her.

"They're halla," She observed, "The old tales say that the Dalish warriors would ride them into battle and they are revered among the clans. The horns don't grow that way; their keepers carve and shape them into beautiful designs. If you can get close enough, you will see that each is different from the next."

"You have been taught well, for a human mage," A new voice answered Wynne's description, sounding impressed, "I did not think your Circle devoted much time to what remains of Dalish history."

The companions turned about to see that another Elf had joined them. Their guides were holding one fist over their hearts, inclining their heads to him. He was shorter than Ffion and Leliana both, but only just. His robes were immaculate, even with this nomadic living, and though his tattoos weren't as intricate as some of the others, they curled over his face with the same artistic grace as those of his peoples'. His head was shaved bald, which seemed rather odd for an Elf, and his eyes were a deep, calm brown. They held an ancient light and a weariness that was almost tangible.

"Well, they taught me the well known facts," Wynne told him, spreading her arms a little with a smile, "My curiousity and traveling did the rest."

The Elf gave her a nod and returned the smile, causing the rest of the companions to relax some. The smile was warm, tired maybe, but warm.

"I am glad to hear that," He studied each of them with a gaze that didn't miss much. His accent was rather strange: it almost seemed that he didn't have one, though there was a slight emphasis on his vowels and he had a peculiar trick of clicking his tongue after _g_'sand _l_'s, "Too much of the Dalish has been lost to this world and I am pleased to meet one that is so willing to teach others. I am Zathrian, Keeper of this clan, and Mithra tells me that you are Wardens seeking to fulfill our treaty with you."

There was just barely a hint that that was a question and Ffion stepped forward as Zathrian motioned for Mithra and her companions to depart. Behind the Keeper, a couple of clan members were lighting long torches that had been sunk into the ground and others were heaping cooking and warming fires alike. The Elves were chatting amongst one another and though some of the children were giggling and arguing, the adults seemed just as weary as their Keeper, just as morose, and Ffion could practically feel Oghren's exaltation in being right.

"Yes, my name is Ffion and this is Alistair, both of the Wardens," She said, pulling out the treaty rather mechanically, "And the rest are our companions, helping us to recruit aid in fighting the Blight. And, yes, we are looking to fulfill the treaty."

Zathrian took the paper in his hand, examining the seal and then handing it back to Ffion, his brown eyes suddenly shuttered.

"Would that I could promise you help, Warden," He said, confirming their suspicions, "But we are not in any position to do so."

"Yeah, like pretty much everyone else, it looks like you've had your own share of trouble," Alistair's voice was dry, "What are the odds?"

Zathrian's eyes flashed to the ex-Templar and Ffion was quick to step in. The staff that was slung over the Keeper's back could probably be in Zathrian's hands before Alistair could use his Templar trick to stop any magic.

"What happened?" She asked rather abruptly and then grimaced as she rephrased that more carefully, "I mean, is there anything we can do to change your mind?"

"Rewind the days and months and prevent a tragedy," Zathrian's tone was just as dry as Alistair's, but he seemed to respect Ffion's offer. He studied her briefly and then motioned with one hand, "Come with me, I will show you what ails us."

He started back across the clearing, towards a large, rather extravagant tent and skirted this. Behind it, a lean-to had been constructed out of animal hides and large swaths of fabric. The Keeper went to one corner and swept up a square of the fabric, revealing the interior. There were about a dozen cots lined within and each one held an Elf. There were oil lamps lighting this makeshift hospital and warm stale air escaped when that curtain was pulled back. Two of the Dalish, obviously healers, were tending to the sick and they glanced up briefly when they realized they were no longer alone. A few of the Elves on the cots were writhing in pain while the rest merely lay prone, some staring up at the ceiling in a dull stupor and the others comatose.

"What happened here?" It was Leliana that broke the silence, her voice horrified and her blue eyes pitying.

Zathrian dropped the curtain back again, hiding the sick from their view. He paced towards the warming fire where three other Dalish were standing and spoke in an impatient voice.

"We have been in this part of the Forest for a fortnight now and would have pressed on long ago, but as you can see, that is impossible. Our hunters were attacked on the first night that we camped here. There were five that had gone scouting and only two returned, both bearing horrible bites from… werewolves," He swung about to look at the companions as though half expecting them to start mocking him. Sten arched his brows, but stayed silent, and Oghren's snorted laughter was cut short as Zevran elbowed him sharply. Zathrian looked between Ffion and Alistair, going on when they met his gaze squarely, waiting to hear the rest of his account, "You are both Ferelden natives, it is clear in your voices. You must know the stories of these woods. There is an ancient magic here that my ancestors were a part of and now it has been disturbed in the most damning way possible. I have lost six of my most talented hunters to this disease and more are disappearing each day. We are ravaged by it and will be of no use to the defeat of the Blight."

"There's nothing that can be done?" Wynne questioned gently, her blue eyes straying back to the lean-to as a moan traveled over the sounds of fire and the clatter of dishes.

"I have one theory, but have not been willing to sacrifice any of the others to test it," He started pacing, speaking more deliberately so as to get it all out before they posed any arguments, "There is a white wolf, Witherfang, that lives in the middle of this copse we are in. He is an ancient spirit who has led the werewolves for a time beyond measure. If he were killed, his heart cut out and returned to me, I could end this cursed disease. I have the power to do so, but the power is useless without Witherfang's heart. The hunters are willing to do this for me, but I cannot allow it. Our numbers have dwindled and we need what hunters we have left if we are to survive."

"So are ya gonna ask us or should we jus' offer an' git it over with?" Oghren questioned, arching his brows at the Keeper.

Zathrian glanced down at him in surprise and then looked between Ffion and Alistair again. He had stopped pacing, but it looked like he wished he hadn't.

"I could not ask this of-"

"Then don't," Ffion interrupted smoothly, ignoring Morrigan's soft exhalation, "We'll camp here tonight and go into the woods to check this out in the morning. I won't make any promises for reason that you understand, but we'll investigate. Any tricks to this section of the Forest?"

The Keeper forced himself over his speechlessness.

"Like I said, there is an ancient magic at work here," He repeated, "There is nothing specific I can warn you about, just… be careful. Not everything is what it seems in these woods. Please, feel free to camp within the clearing and there is plenty for all of us to eat if you wish to join us."

Ffion inclined her head and thanked him, herding the others back to a more secluded corner of the clearing. They staked their tents in relative quiet, Morrigan, Sten and Oghren displeased with this decision, but not voicing their doubts. They joined the Dalish for their simple fair of rice and venison, and found that the Elves weren't as stand-offish as they thought they'd be. The children were fascinated by Sten, and Tilly was in a bad way of becoming completely spoiled with all of the treats they gave her, giggling as she begged shamelessly. Wynne kept conjuring balls of light and bubbles that burst with the slightest touch of a finger for the youngest of the children while Leliana sat with the musicians, listening avidly to their beautiful, haunting music that seemed as much a part of the Forest as the wildlife. Zevran and Oghren were both _quite_ enthralled by the ethereal beauty of the female Elves and the Dwarf drew a crowd of curious children who hadn't seen a Dwarf before. Morrigan remained silently aloof, while Ffion and Alistair talked with Zathrian and his First, a young Elf named Lanaya, who had been rescued from slavers when she was young. They didn't learn much more about the curse and no one seemed able to give them any concrete advice on what to watch for when they pressed on in the morning. So Ffion took it upon herself to give her companions the option.

"Listen," She said as they returned to their corner of the clearing, after prying Oghren from the group of children that had surrounded him as he played sleight of hand tricks and made funny faces at them, "If the Elves would let you and if any of you feel led to help them here, don't feel like you have to come along tomorrow morning."

They all exchanged glances, save Zevran and Alistair. The Elf was sharpening one of his shortswords, a clear sign that he wouldn't even consider staying behind, and Alistair was crouching to examine his shield where it leaned against his tent. Wynne smiled gently at the Warden.

"I don't think the Elves would want us interfering here and none of us want you to go along without us," She replied.

The others were nodding at Ffion; even Morrigan inclined her raven head before ducking into her own tent.

"Alright, then," The Warden said briskly, pleased with their reaction, "No watches tonight, so let's just try to get some sleep."


	53. Chapter 53

**A/N: **Very, very late; so sorry! I was gone the past couple of weeks, looking for the sun and I found it; it was great! Anyway, hope you all enjoy and even counting my recent adventures, Dragon Age and all its components still belong to Bioware... Can't have everything, I guess.

* * *

The next morning dawned bright and clear and very cool. The companions left the clearing in the dim half-light and were seen off by Lanaya and a woodworker and merchant by the name of Varathorn who was able to supply them with health poultices, arrows, whetstones, and a few other essentials that they might need. Lanaya had offered to fence Syd with the halla and though the beautiful stags welcomed him without trouble, he looked frumpy next to their shimmering white coats. He was happy with the fresh grass, however, and he nuzzled one of the smaller halla that immediately wanted to play with him. The companions ventured into the Forest on the eastern path and trudged along for a time in the early morning, listening to the birds waking up around them and beginning their songs. The landscape became more hilly here and a lot of the time, the path they followed was hedged in on either side with grass and shrub covered mounds. The dew soaked grass softened their footsteps and it was such a peaceful hike that when Alistair and Ffion both stiffened, coming to a stop, the others almost crashed into them.

"Darkspawn," Ffion murmured, reaching for her blades.

"It doesn't seem possible that they could be here in such a tranquil place," Wynne observed in a quiet voice as her staff was nestled into her palms.

"It's definitely not a human or Elf with the taint," Alistair replied as they edged forward slowly.

"No, it's not," Leliana fired her bow and a second later the Genlock that was clearing one of the rolling hills ahead dropped dead.

The other Darkspawn were cresting the hill now and their hoarse voices rose in unintelligible war-cries. The companions were ready for them and Tilly darted ahead with Alistair, Sten, and Oghren while Zevran disappeared from Ffion's side only to spring up in the midst of the monsters. The Warden hung back with Leliana, Wynne, and Morrigan and she was the one that called the warning.

"Wolves!" She shouted as a half dozen of the enormous beasts tore through the trees at them.

Only these weren't ordinary wolves. Their limbs were disproportionately long and as they attacked, they stood on their hind legs, towering about to Alistair's height. The Darkspawn were being driven back, but the added presence of the beasts was not helping. Sten, Alistair, and Oghren were floundering with these new foes and as Zevran drew the last of the Darkspawn away from them, one of the wolves dove at their Dwarf. Oghren was knocked off balance and fell heavily to the ground as the beast pounced on him and began tearing away at his armor. Wynne shouted and a second later, the wolf flew from Oghren and landed in a heap on the ground where it didn't move. Zevran dropped another of his tricks and the remaining four Darkspawn were enveloped in a thick smoke that hid them from view as the Elf cut them down. Sten and Alistair took on two of the wolves while Tilly bolted back to her lady as the others headed her way. Oghren jumped to his feet, his face red as anger swept through him and he was right behind the Mabari. The Dwarf's rage worked in their favor and the wolves didn't stand a chance with his wide, vicious swings.

"Are you okay?" Ffion quizzed as the last wolf was taken out and they had a chance to catch their breath.

"Eh, nothin' worse than wha' I'm used ta," Oghren replied shrugging away her concern.

Alistair was prodding one of the wolves with the tip of his boot, studying it closely.

"One thing's for sure," He said, "Zathrian was telling the truth. I never thought I'd see a werewolf outside of the storybooks."

Leliana frowned at him as she slid her bow over her shoulder and cocked her head.

"You didn't believe him?" She questioned, "Even with the evidence of those poor Elves?"

Sten rolled his shoulders and moved to stand with Ffion, his hulking presence exuding an impatience that was tangible.

"That cannot be a surprise," His deep voice answered, "Why would someone hesitate to take advantage of goodwill and trust in the discord caused by this Blight? Can we move on now?"

Ffion was smiling faintly, cleaning her red-steel shortsword and sliding it home.

"Yeah, let's-"

"Ffion?" Zevran's voice was rather faint, "Come, please, I need you."

She frowned, glancing around at everyone before she realized that the Elf was not among them. Her grey eyes scanned the trees and she finally spotted his hand waving from another dip in the path. His blond hair was just visible and the Warden hurried to him, worry gripping her heart. Their Elf was fine, but he was kneeling next to another wolf who was lying prone on the path, its chest rising and falling shallowly. Blood had stained the grass deep crimson and as Ffion crouched beside Zevran, she saw that the wolf was close to death's door.

"She is part of this curse," The Elf said, "She-"

He was cut off as the wolf suddenly spoke in a broken voice and in that mixture of common and Elvish. The words took an effort and Zevran lowered his head to hers to catch what she was saying. Her voice was rasping and she broke off now and then with whimpers of pain that caused Tilly to whine softly. Zevran nodded his head a couple of times and responded in a quiet tone, his words gentle. His amber eyes met Ffion's as the wolf lowered her head, her eyes closing in relief and something akin to surrender. One of their Elf's hands went to his belt to pull out a wicked looking knife.

"She wishes me to end it," He told Ffion, "And I prefer to not see you covered in blood, my dear."

"Oh," Ffion glanced down at the wolf in pity, her lips parting, but it was quite clear that nothing could be done for her, "Right, of course."

The Warden moved back, tugging Tilly along with her and standing next to Alistair as Zevran murmured something to the wolf and then, with one quick, experienced thrust through the heart, ended her suffering. He cleaned his blade and slid it home before untying the thick woolen scarf that had been looped around her neck and getting to his feet.

"Her name was Danyla, her husband is back in the camp, and she wished to have this returned to him," He explained, folding the scarf, which had been lovingly and expertly woven, into a small bundle to tuck into his pack, "It appears they were both hunters, in different groups, and her party was attacked while his made it home safely. The curse, if she is to be believed and there is no reason to doubt her, is not a simple transformation… Quite obviously, yes? For her to choose death over it speaks volumes."

Ffion nodded, still looking at the beast in pity. This was suddenly made even more real, hearing that one of them was named, married, and had had a good life before this tragedy… She gave herself a mental shake, feeling the others looking at her.

"Right, so let's go and end this for them," She said and then pressed on down the path.

Leliana was looking sidelong at Zevran as they fell in behind the Warden. Her blue eyes gleamed with a knowing light and Zevran arched his brows at her suggestively.

"That was a very decent thing you did, Zevran," She told him softly, "Showing mercy like that."

The Elf shrugged away her praise.

"I was putting a dying animal out of her misery," He answered dryly, his amber eyes unreadable, "There is not much to read into that, lovely. And if you are willing to believe I am softening, think again. The only softening I wish for is-"

"That's enough," Leliana interrupted, not about to be baited as the Elf baited Ffion. Her eyes remained steady on his, "You are not the impartial killer you wish us to believe. Your true colors are beginning to show, no?"

Zevran glanced at Ffion's chocolate hair and let his gaze linger on that alluring swing of her hips, seeing her in the temple in nothing but her smallclothes… And then he was winking at Leliana with a wicked grin, the implication clear there. She rolled her eyes and let out a mock long-suffering sigh, not in the least bit fooled, but quite amused.

The path went up a small incline and they were standing on what used to be a stone floor; the slabs were still visible through the moss and grass. The roof that had been overhead had collapsed long ago and the pillars that supported it were still there, partially covered with moss and crumbling with age. To their left was a short section of wall and a couple of headstones that had tilted until it looked like they would topple over completely. The path continued on ahead of the companions, but Ffion hesitated briefly, curious about the headstones. She took a half step towards them and Morrigan's voice stopped her.

"Wait, Ffion," Her gold eyes studied the place with some trepidation, "I do not like this. It is not a good idea to disturb anything here. The Keeper was right, there is an ancient magic over this place that only a fool would tamper with."

The Warden glanced back at her and then gave a nod. Wynne was on Morrigan's side of this issue and Ffion wasn't willing to go up against both of them.

"Alright let's move on, then," She said and they left the ruined temple and old graveyard.

The path sloped back down and entered a wide dip with hills once more rising up on either side. Impossibly enough, there was a little battered tent staked off the path; a tent that had clearly seen better days. Beside this was a wide trunk and the fire-ring was laid in readiness for the return of the camp's owner; it was obvious that the place was deserted. The companions still approached it carefully and Tilly snuffled around at everything, most interested in the old stump that stood between the fire-ring and the path. She was sniffing like mad and wouldn't listen to Ffion's call of her name. Instead, she was pawing at the earth around the stump's roots and whining quietly.

"Andraste's knickers," Ffion muttered, stalking to her hound, "Come on, Tilly, it can't be _that_ interesting."

"Hold a moment, my dove," Zevran was at her side, cocking his head at the stump, and spotting the little opening at the base that Tilly was trying to shove her nose into, "She has found something, but I can't see what it is."

Morrigan let out a huff of breath and Sten grumbled in his own tongue, but ignoring them was now second nature to Ffion, and she hauled Tilly back so Zevran could crouch down and inspect the stump. He pulled away some of the growth that Tilly missed and groped in the little hole while sending a bright smile up at Ffion.

"There was something shining in here and I think our mercenary talk has had an effect on Tilly, yes?" He said, "Perhaps this will work in our favor… Now, the last time I had my hand in some dark, wet hole, I-"

"Wherever that happens to be going, just… no," Alistair interrupted as he moved to stand with Ffion. He couldn't understand this bond she shared with the Elf and he would be lying if he said it didn't make him insanely jealous, "I don't think any of us are in the mood."

"Oh no?" Zevran read the emotions perfectly in the ex-Templar's face and anymore, with what Ffion was coming to mean to him, he wasn't sure it would be so easy to step aside gracefully and let Alistair win their little Warden to him… no matter her growing feelings for her fellow Warden either, "Perhaps we should take a vote. I think that the others are more fond of my sense of humor than you believe them to be. Certainly they are more open to-"

"Enough," Ffion said tiredly, "Save the pissing contests for camp, when we don't have to work together to get through the day. Any luck?"

The Elf was grinning, his amber eyes dancing as he let out a triumphant breath and extracted his hand. Holding his palm open, he let Ffion examine what he found. Tilly yanked herself away from her lady and bounded to Zevran, her nose going straight for his hand. She knocked loose a small acorn and began nosing it through the grass to Ffion's feet. She was just bending to pick it up when there was a sharp _crack_ and a hoarse, frantic voice was berating them.

"Thieves! _They_ sent you, didn't they? But they won't win this one, I'll finally show them!"

The man that had shouted was probably younger than he looked, but his white hair was wild about his gaunt face and his frenzied expression emphasized the deep furrows in his skin. His clothes were torn and ratted and the stale smell of sweat and mud trailed behind him as he ran to his tent, conjuring a handful of abominations in his wake. Zevran jumped to his feet, dropping the little handful of items and sending them scattering across the ground. He was fighting shoulder to shoulder with Alistair as they defended Ffion and she was busy watching their backs with Tilly while the rest of the companions jumped into the fray. Sten leaped at the old hermit who slammed his worn staff into the ground, a bubble of pure energy surrounding him. The Qunari skidded to a halt and swung his sword, which merely bounced clear, and Morrigan came to his aid.

"Sten!" She shouted.

The witch knocked one of the abominations towards him and then transformed into a giant bear that knocked the hermit from his feet with one swipe of her paw. Oghren was ready with his battleaxe, seeming to materialize from the very air and as soon as the man was dead, the remaining abominations disappeared. Ffion was just diving at one with her swords ready and she was caught of guard, falling painfully to her knees. She swore under her breath, feeling Alistair as he came close.

"You okay?" He asked, one hand going under her elbow.

She smiled up at him rather wanly, letting him help her. His honey eyes were concerned and his hand was supportive.

"Fine, that just… kind of caught me by surprise," She pulled away rather reluctantly and glanced around at everyone, trying to ignore the knowing gleam in Zevran's eyes, "Anyone want to take a guess at what his problem was?"

"His magic was old, like the Forest," Wynne answered patiently, watching as Leliana crouched to rifle through the hermit's pockets, "But it was clear he was a little…"

"Touched in the 'ead?" Oghren offered with a grin.

"Just that?" Sten was _almost_ joking as he arched his brows at Ffion and Alistair, "What do you think that acorn means?"

Morrigan, herself again and brushing some dust from her blood-red top, spoke without looking up.

"Wynne said an old magic, yes? That acorn holds the same enchantment. There must be some meaning behind this."

Zevran had moved over to pick the lock on the trunk and Oghren was watching with interest.

"Ya sure it's worth it?" He asked as the Elf inserted his slender lockpick and worked nimbly.

"There is only one way to find out, yes?" Zevran replied as the lock _clicked_ and he tipped the lid up.

There wasn't much: just a few changes of clothes that the hermit had obviously never used, a small purse with a handful of coins rattling within, several wolf pelts, and three loaves of very stale bread. The Elf tossed these out for the birds and whatever else might eat them, pocketed the coin purse, and left the rest where it was.

They pressed on, the sun still rising steadily and warming as it slanted through the trees. There was a split in the path, one side leading into more of a clearing while the other was more forested. Ffion, thinking that more woods could possibly mean the center of the copse, turned that way. The hills fell away from the path in the thicker woods and they could hear running water as they ventured deeper into the Forest. They rounded a bend and were just about to cross a makeshift wooden bridge that spanned the rushing creek when Tilly began growling and three werewolves appeared to block the path.

Ffion heard the others pulling loose their weapons and she flipped her swords into her palms as the wolves stood on their hind legs and glared down at her. One of them stood forward, his eyes a startling bluish-green in the ruddy brown-furred face, and when he spoke, it was in the Common tongue.

"Hold, human," His voice was sharp and hoarse, "You will go no further. We have been watching you and know that you fight with skill. We don't wish anymore of our people dead."

Ffion studied him and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask him what the hell he was, if he wasn't an Elf, but she pushed the urge aside and instead arched her brows, her hands tightening on her swords.

"That would have worked better if your people told us at the beginning," She said dryly, "So there's another part of this story? Shocking. What's your role in it?"

The wolf drew himself upright and it was such a man-like thing to do, it surprised Ffion. His blue and green eyes, so vibrant, flashed with impatience.

"You are in no position to make demands of us," He snapped, "You don't understand everything in this tale, human, it would be wise to second guess that traitorous Elf. He hasn't been honest with you."

"And you are being honest?" Her question came immediately, her grey eyes fastened on his face, trying to read any expression in his gaze.

He snarled as a way of giving her a wicked smile and made Tilly growl even more fiercely. One of those long, hand-like paws waved at the two wolves behind him, and they were lowering to all fours, beginning to retreat.

"Yes, human, I am being honest," He sneered the words, "And to prove it, I will not attack you, just leave you with a warning. If you persist in this quest, all of you will die. Your fate is in your own hands."

The wolves took off, running gracefully as deer even though their long limbs appeared so ungainly. The companions relaxed a little, but didn't put their weapons away; no one could say for sure that the creatures had left them completely alone. Leliana was the first to speak, breaking the wondering silence.

"Well, what now?" She asked, her voice soft as though the Forest itself was listening in on this conversation, "It is only his word that Zathrian was dishonest, but how can we trust anything any of them might tell us?"

"We can't," Alistair answered, glancing down at Ffion who looked thoughtful, the little crease between her brows evident as she considered the wolf's words, "Do you want to press on or go back and see what the Keeper has to say?"

She gave herself a little shake, touching the small lump in one of her belt pouches and knowing without a doubt that that the little acorn there would help to answer some of those questions.

"We'll keep going," She replied and slid her swords away. She carefully walked across the wooden bridge, feeling the slight give in the old, wet wood. Glancing over her shoulder, she warned, "Go one at a time, I don't know how much weight this can handle."

Tilly plowed across it and started snuffling around in the grass and the others crossed without trouble. They pressed on through the trees, finding a few more Darkspawn and a few groups of wolves. Luckily they didn't run into the problem of facing off with both groups at once and they reached the next fork in the path with relative ease. One fork led north for a short jaunt before turning towards the eastern portion of the Forest while the other continued to wind to the south, into a copse of oak and alder. Ffion hesitated for a moment and Tilly trotted on ahead, nose to the ground, inspecting the southern route. Her lady shrugged rather comically at her companions and then followed after the Mabari. The path was wide and grassy and the trees gradually grew closer to the borders of it. They had gone maybe halfway towards the copse when suddenly there was a creak and groan of timber as though a gust of wind had just blown through the trees. Morrigan shouted the warning, her staff erupting with power as two of the trees came to life. Impossibly, their roots formed two wads that resembled feet and their upper branches whipped through the air as they twisted to attack the companions. The bark of the upper portion of the trees was twisted and gnarled into what could pass for faces and Wynne and Morrigan were quick in their attempts to debilitate these monsters. Both of them conjured fire balls, hurling them into the uppermost branches while the others did their best against the strong trunks. The witch hit one of the weakened trees with her string of boulders and there was a tremendous _crash_ as the rocks ripped the trunk in half and the tree hit the path. She let Wynne douse the flames with water as she focused her attention on the other tree and repeated her efforts. It worked just as well as the second time and Ffion was blinking through the smoke as she studied the trees in amazement.

"Wild sylvans?" She said in disbelief, "And here I thought it was just a joke. Who would've thought that demons would _want_ to possess trees?"

"Maybe they just get tired of the hierarchy in their world and want a little peace and quiet?" Alistair offered with his crooked grin, making her chuckle.

"It looks like this path just loops back around, Ffion," Leliana was saying, looking beyond the wreckage of the trees and studying the path ahead, "Should we try that other fork instead?"

The Warden followed her gaze and studied the enormous oak that stood between the little stream and the path. It towered well over the other trees in its copse, its branches thick and gnarled by time, growing close together, and making for an excellent climbing tree. She stepped over the tree limbs in her way, sheathing her swords, and answering the Orlesian over her shoulder.

"Just hang on for a second, I want to see if I can spot anything from this tree up here."

They followed her and were within a few yards of the oak when it too began moving. Weapons in hand, the companions waited for the thing to begin its attack and stared in wonder as it spoke instead.

"What manner of beast be thee, that comes before this elder tree?" The tree spoke in a male voice that echoed through the Forest and rumbled through the roots. It seemed to sigh like the wind and it belonged to the rustling leaves, coming at the companions from every angle.

Morrigan and Wynne both let out soft gasps and the witch spoke first.

"A rhyming tree," She said wonderingly, "Flemeth spoke of such things, but they were merely stories. I never thought…"

Wynne finished that thought as Morrigan's voice trailed off.

"Another legend come to life," She murmured softly, "It's extraordinary."

Ffion felt that the tree was, well, sort of watching her from that whorl in the bark that resembled a face. She was confused by his question, but she took a stab at an answer anyway.

"What manner of beast?" She repeated as she sheathed her swords and straightened herself, eying the tree and wondering if maybe it couldn't see clearly, "I'm not a beast, I'm human."

"Ah, yes," The tree shifted with a creak of wood and a dull _thud_ that rumbled through the ground beneath their feet, "I remember thy kind, so brief of life and all but blind, to the perils you cause, the lives you take. Such chaos is sown within thy wake. Allow me a moment to welcome thee. I am the Grand Oak, sometimes the Elder Tree. And unless thou thinks it far too soon, might I ask of thee a boon?"

"A boon?" Ffion cocked her head. The tree was fascinating and she couldn't help but want to hear it speak again.

"It wishes for a favor," Sten clarified, but his voice wasn't nearly as sharp as usual, "Like everyone else we have come across."

The oak straightened a little, creaking and swinging his limb-arms as though waving in agreement.

"I have but one desire, to solve a matter very dire," He replied, "As I slept one early morn, a thief did come and steal an acorn. All I have is my being, my seed. Without it I am alone indeed. I cannot go and seek it out, yet I shall die if left without."

Ffion smiled, pleased with herself for hanging on to that acorn. She dug into the pouch at her belt and tugged it out. Stepping forward into the oak's shadow, she extended her hand.

"Do you mean this one?" She asked.

One of the smaller branches reached down and Ffion gently pressed it into a knot that marred its young bark. The oak stood back again and sighed. When he spoke, his voice was softer, lighter; it was clear he was thrilled.

"My joy soars to new heights indeed! I am reunited with my seed!"

Alistair frowned in concentration at the oak and he stepped forward next to Ffion.

"You must have been… rooted here for some time," He said slowly, "Do you know where the werewolves came from? Or could you tell us where Witherfang is?"

"In the center of the Forest, the weres do dwell or so go the tales my fellows tell. But they cannot be followed there, the Forest doth protect the weres," The oak seemed happy to have company and was more than happy to answer their questions.

Ffion shifted her weight as Tilly leaned against her. A frown creased her forehead and she picked up Alistair's track.

"Protect them?" She quizzed, "Protect them how? What spell is over this Forest that would hide a clan of werewolves?"

"Perhaps weres use the magic to command the trees. All I know is they move as they please," He gave what could pass for a shrug and then added, "And for the magic… A great war perhaps, I cannot tell. I was not here when it befell, but many deaths here, all the same. And with the deaths, the spirits came. The spirits entered corpse and tree and most went mad, as thou canst see. The Forest had a spirit of its own, from back when its first seeds were sown. Perhaps she died of grief that day, or perhaps she simply went away. Or perhaps the weres are the ones to blame, for the day she left is the day they came."

The Wardens were thinking that one over and it was Wynne who made the observation.

"The spirit disappears and the werewolves come," She said softly, thinking out loud, "And Zathrian said that Witherfang has been leading the wolves for an age… Do you think that this spirit and Witherfang are one and the same?"

Alistair shrugged at her as Morrigan looked thoughtful and Leliana nodded her head in agreement. It was easy to see the wheels turning in Ffion's head and she looked up at the oak speculatively.

"You clearly have magic of your own," She said slowly, "Do you have anything that could maybe show us the way to the center of the Forest?"

"My wooden skin has some magic, see, and part of it I can give to thee," The oak's branches were waving again as it searched for the right branch to give to the companions. It finally found a suitable one and with a little _snap_ broke it cleanly from a larger branch. Handing it to Ffion, he added, "Here it be. I hope its magic pleases thee. Keep this branch of mine with thee and pass throughout the Forest free."

Ffion felt the same little thrum of magic through this simple branch that she had felt with the acorn and she gave the oak a little bow.

"You've been wonderful," She said with a bright smile, "And your copse is lovely. I wish you many more years rooted here."

The oak bent into what was unmistakably a returning bow and stood back again. They could hear his roots shove through the earth as he nestled into a spot of sunlight.

"I wish thee well, my mortal friend," He said and his voice was much softer this time, "Thou brought my sadness to an end! May the sunlight find you, thy days be long; thy winters kind, and thy roots be strong."

Ffion smiled again and kept the oak branch clasped in one hand. She glanced behind her at the others and arched her brows a little.

"Let's go and see if the werewolves can top that."


	54. Chapter 54

**A/N: **Next chapter; 54, I think, which is fantastic! Thanks so much to those of you who read, followed, and reviewed. You're great! Hope you enjoy and take care!

* * *

They edged past the oak when it was clear that he had settled back into his partial slumber, and continued down the path. They found themselves in the eastern portion of the Forest again and soon they crossed back through the hermit's clearing. Tilly was happy to trot on through this time and Ffion turned down the other fork. They found more wolves that were easily taken care of and then came to a halt when they rounded a corner and saw a misty cloud of white hanging over the path. Wynne stepped next to Ffion and Alistair, studying the barrier with interest.

"Hmm, it's like the barrier I constructed in the Tower, but this one is much more crude," She explained, "Mine was meant to keep the abominations from getting through and I suppose this does the same thing, but there is something deceptive about this… I can feel how thin the Veil is between our world and the other, but I didn't think… I guess this is why the oak gave you that branch."

Ffion inspected the branch and then smiled wanly at Enchanter.

"So without this, we'd - what? Be drifting around in the Fade… again?"

"I couldn't say one way or the other," Wynne replied patiently, "But, let's just say that it is a good thing that we have that branch."

The Warden nodded, lifting her eyebrows wryly. She studied the barrier once more and then turned to face her companions. She held up the branch.

"I think it's probably best if we try to go through all at once," She said and glanced briefly at Wynne who was nodding in agreement, "I don't want to lose any of you, so either make a chain by grabbing hold of me or pretend that you all really like one another and link arms. Tilly, come."

She looped a short lead through her belt and fastened it to her hound's collar while the others gathered around her. Zevran was immensely amused by all of this and Oghren grinned wickedly up at Wynne as he pressed close to her. The Enchanter merely smiled back patiently as she tucked one hand into his arm and extended the other to Alistair. The ex-Templar took it and rather shyly pressed his hand into the crook of Ffion's elbow. She smiled up at him and then rolled her eyes as Zevran came close and murmured in her ear.

"You could tie me to your belt as well," He said, "Then I would be tied to Ferelden, yes?"

"Behave," She said absentmindedly, glancing to make sure that Morrigan, Sten, and Leliana were following suit, "I'm pretty sure the last thing I want tied to my belt is you."

Alistair chuckled and Zevran grinned wickedly at the Warden, taking her elbow firmly. Leliana grabbed hold of the Elf's other arm and Morrigan and Sten joined the crowd. Ffion gave everyone one last look and then started forward. They passed through the barrier, which was cool and wet, rather like a morning mist. Disentangling themselves from one another, they studied their surroundings and started forward down the path to round a bend. There were more ruins here and though the Forest was doing its best to reclaim them, the old structure was very impressive. The stones that weren't covered with moss or crumbled out of sight were dark grey, aged by the rain and wind just as the trees were. The stone slab floor had long ago disappeared under the grass and shrubs and the arches that once decorated a vast hall seemed to be the only impervious structures. Ffion and Alistair led the way, Tilly right beside them, and they were so taken with the ruin that when the wolves appeared, it caught everyone by surprise. The leader was the same ruddy wolf that had confronted them at the bridge and this time, it didn't look like he was going to stand down and avoid the fight. He stood, drawing himself up so that he could tower over Ffion, and glaring at all of them. The rise that hemmed the path in was alive with the rustling of more wolves and Ffion did her best to ignore it as her companions settled into defensive stances behind her.

"This is your last chance, human," The wolf snarled angrily, "Turn back now or be destroyed."

"What are you protecting?" Ffion replied immediately, not in least bit fazed by the fury in the wolf's face.

"I told you, you don't know the whole tale. Run back to the traitors, little human, you won't reach the Lady today."

Ffion's true colors were, as always, shining bright and she settled back, preparing for the onslaught as she answered.

"Let's see how confidant you really are."

The wolf threw himself at her and the two behind him were right on his heels. Ffion was ready and held her own as a half dozen more jumped down from the rise and joined the fray. The fight was intense and it wasn't clear who actually had the upper hand; the close quarters being more of a hindrance than a help. Ffion heard one of the wolves being taken out and she kicked at hers, making him stumble back away from her companions. She was after him as a second wolf went down and a third let out a yelp of pain. This distracted the leader long enough for Ffion to land a blow and he was pushed even further away from his fellow wolves. He went purely on the defensive, the Warden had the upper hand, and she was just getting ready to strike again when there was a flash of white from the corner of her eye. Something soft but solid crashed into her, knocking her to the ground, and sending one of her swords rolling away. She immediately put up the other, half expecting claws and teeth to start ripping into her, but instead there was only a long, drawn out howl that made Tilly lower her head and whine softly. Ffion propped herself up on her elbows and watched as the werewolves scrambled away from her companions and followed a massive white wolf running swiftly for the ruins.

Ffion got to her feet, frowning at this sudden retreat, and then glanced at her companions. Wynne was taking care of a deep scratch in her arm, Leliana's bow string had snapped and she crouched to restring it while Oghren stood to one side, wiping blood from a gash in his cheek. The others seemed to be fine, though Morrigan's face was drawn and looked a little ragged, as though the fight had taken a lot out of her. She downed a potion that improved her color and Ffion returned to their little group.

"Everyone okay?" She asked, positioning herself between Alistair and Zevran, and then crouching to inspect Tilly.

"Okay," Sten answered, cleaning Asala before sliding it away, "Are we ready to follow them?"

"I guess we don't have much choice, do we?" Alistair said, "And that had to be Witherfang, so let's go and see what we can find out."

They started after the wolves, rounding another bend in the track, and found themselves in what used to be a massive hall. Ahead, there were two more wolves that growled fiercely but made no move to attack. Instead one of them waved at his companion, saying sharply,

"Fall back, protect the Lady!"

They turned and loped towards the far end of the hall where the remnants of a thick wooden door stood. It was heavily shadowed and they disappeared from view as the companions started after them. The entry was just as dark as the doorway, but once they cleared this, the torches in the cavernous hall allowed them to view their surroundings. They stood at the top of a short flight of stairs, which were gradually being destroyed by a massive wad of roots, and overlooked another hall. To their right, through a doorway, the tips of the wolves' tails were disappearing down a steep flight of steps and the companions bolted after them, only to watch as another heavily reinforced door slammed shut at the bottom of the staircase. A moment later, there was the sound of a bar slipping into place and even as Sten attempted to bust it open, Ffion knew they were screwed.

"Don't wear yourself out," She recommended dryly and turned to head up the steps again, "There should be another way through this place."

The others followed her and they studied the hall in more detail when they reached it. It was massive, the torches casting their light only halfway up the walls and creating more shadows. The stone was old, in some places it was crumbling completely, allowing little pinpoints of daylight to shine through, and it was more obvious now that the roots of the trees outside was the main cause of the destruction. There were more graceful arches here and ancient idols had long ago been nestled into their little niches along the walls. The absence of windows led them to believe that this had been an interior room with other rooms leading off of it and Ffion was right. In the shadows, directly across from the door they entered, there was a hallway that led further into the ruins and the Warden gave her companions a brief smile before heading that way. It was long and dark, swathed with spider webs, and before Morrigan could stop her, Ffion walked right through them.

There was a sudden, strange hissing sound and four massive spiders dropped from the ceiling, landing between the Warden and the others. She drew her swords and took on two at once while Morrigan and Wynne's magic shot all around her with Leliana's arrows mixed in. She took out one and was just turning on the other when Sten was there, bringing Asala up and slamming it down on the spider's head. Ffion glanced around at the rest of the companions and, in spite of her initial horror, had to grin as Oghren slumped against the wall, his face pale.

"You alright there, Oghren?" She quizzed as she cleaned her blades.

"Gi'e me those slimy Darkspawn bastards any day," The Dwarf answered, "Spi'ers? I'll pass."

Ffion couldn't help but giggle right along with Leliana as Alistair grinned down at Oghren.

"The great and fearsome Oghren, single-handed slayer of ogres, afraid of spiders?" The ex-Templar let that sink in as they gathered themselves together and started forward again, "Nope, doesn't fit."

Oghren sent Alistair an odd half-serious-half-amused look and thought a minute before he answered.

"If ya don' think somethin' with six legs too many an' poisonous pincers is a li'le bit of a horror, yer a bloody fool, P.T."

The others chuckled as Morrigan offered her own, admittedly strange, expertise.

"The only reason they attacked us was because their webs were disturbed," The witch explained coolly as they bypassed a cross-hall, one side of which had long ago caved-in, "They are spiders, yes? And they were simply reacting as spiders do."

They reached another stretch of hall that was covered and Ffion arched her brows, glancing over her shoulder at Morrigan.

"Do you have a way to get by these things without causing a disturbance?" She asked and tried to keep the challenging tone to a minimum.

The witch studied the webs in wonder, fascinated by the intricacy of them. She went a little closer and tipped her head to look up into the shadows above the webs. Oghren shuddered and Leliana stifled a giggle while Ffion watched Morrigan closely. The witch tugged her staff free and there were a few little flashes of light before the supporting webs snapped, floating gently to the floor. The companions braced themselves for the onslaught, but nothing came and Morrigan turned to them with a small smile.

"'Tis clear," She said, tucking the staff back, and waiting until they reached her before turning down the hallway again.

Ffion paused long enough to study Morrigan's work and saw that she had covered deep burrows in the stone wall with thick webs. The Warden sent a brief smile at the witch and brushed away a strand of webs that was tickling her neck.

"Clever," She commented, "Thanks, Morrigan."

"My pleasure," The witch replied and her mouth tipped in a little smile.

"She just didn't want to see anymore of her kin-"

"Shh, hold," Sten interrupted Alistair even as Morrigan sent the ex-Templar a poisonous glare. They reached another impasse in the hallway; directly ahead was a flight of steps that led to double doors and there was another set of doors to the right. But Sten was studying the stairs that went down to the left and cocking his head to one side, "There was something just then and there's an odd smell."

The companions fell silent as they listened for any other sounds. There was a dripping that echoed further in the ruins and the scuffling of rodents that made Tilly perk up. Then a deep sound rumbled up from the steps and Ffion was the first to take a step that way, Sten beside her. A dank, almost sharp smell wafted up from below and, with a brief shrug at the others, Ffion started down. The stairs were broken by landings and there were two turns that doubled back on each other even as they ventured into the earth. There was another deep rumbling that made them all pause and exchange nervous glances.

"Is that what it really sounds like?" Alistair asked carefully, his tone telling them he didn't really want to know.

Ffion continued forward as the stairs ended and there was another doorway ahead, the doors long since ripped from their hinges and hurled aside. Tilly was stepping beside her and she whined softly as her lady answered.

"Let's just… stick together and be careful," She replied and her voice was barely a murmur.

She stopped in the doorway and the others crowded around her. They had reached another hall that was the same size as the first, though this one was in worse shape. A big chunk of the ceiling had caved in and shafts of bright sunlight hit the rough stone slabs and bounced off the walls. They could see some tree roots, vines, and the other shrubs that lined the edge of the collapsed section and told them they had probably been walking around on top of this place all morning. With the addition of the sun and elements, more foliage had taken root in the cracks of the stone slabs and the companions could easily see the next doorway across the hall.

"It is a dragon, Ffion," Sten said, his voice a murmur. There was a whisper of metal on metal as he pulled Asala loose and his eyes studied the deep gouges in the floor and the sooty smudges on the walls, "We must be cautious."

"And there are traps," Zevran added, his amber eyes sweeping the floor of the hall, "Stick close to the walls. Do not walk across the dais."

Ffion studied the floor as well and spotted the cause for the Elf's concern. There were trigger points all along the dais, spiraling in towards the middle of it, and just waiting for some poor sod's unsuspecting foot. She reached down and grasped Tilly's collar, pulling her around to the other side so that the Mabari would be between her and the wall. The Warden found that she and Sten had to take the first steps and they continued gingerly through the hall, so close to the walls that their armor scraped against the stone every so often. That sharp, acrid smell permeating the air grew sharper as they left the doorway and they just reached the dais when there was an ominous _swoosh_ of wings and a screech that sounded more than a little furious. A shadow crossed the shafts of sunlight and, amidst the cursing and prepping of the companions, a dragon soared into the hall and landed with a thud that shook the stone.

It rocked to its back legs, letting out a roar, and when it landed again, it shot fire around the room. The companions dove clear, lying flat across the stone slabs, and Wynne and Morrigan were the first to recover. They sprang to their feet, staffs at the ready, and hit the dragon with water and ice at the same instant. Sten and Oghren were the next ones to attack and they darted forward to land their own blows while the creature was distracted. Soon, all of them were working together, moving in to attack, and then falling back when the dragon recovered. They were fighting dangerously close to the dais, and Tilly and Oghren both came close to setting off one of the traps. Ffion, eager to get the fight closer to that far doorway, felt her heart drop as Alistair stepped back and just nicked one of the triggers. Nothing exploded, but she darted forward anyway as the dragon turned from the ex-Templar to face Sten, growling furiously. The Warden pushed Alistair from the trigger, shouting over the fight.

"It's compromised! Get clear of it; help Sten!"

She crouched as Alistair ducked away and turned her attention completely to the trigger. It was simply a loose flagstone covering the trap itself, designed with a flint that would be ignited the moment the stone was pushed back into place. Gilmore had been a master of these pranks and Ffion would have given anything to have him here helping her. She worked carefully as she pried the stone all the way clear, flinching every time she heard the dragon's thudding steps and the unmistakable sounds of fire rushing from its mouth. The moment the stone came away in her hand, her breath escaped in a rush; she hadn't realized she had been holding it, and then she cursed sharply. The dragon was rounding on her, moving more quickly than she thought possible, and she threw the stone, abandoned the trap, and faced off with the beast. Ignoring the shouts of her name and the way Tilly charged after the dragon, she waited until the last moment and then dodged forward, rolling between the dragon's legs, and thrusting one of her swords up at its belly. It roared sharply when it felt the pain and the Warden missed the flow of blood by centimeters. She sprang to her feet, waiting for the creature to double back again, but Sten, Alistair, and Oghren were faster. They were with Tilly as they attacked with a new fervor and Leliana and Zevran were standing with Ffion as Wynne and Morrigan shot spells when the men were clear.

Ffion's blow had been more severe than even she realized and the dragon was weakening. Blood dripped steadily to the floor, making it rather treacherous, and it only took a moment for the worst to happen. Sten was swinging fiercely, trying to reach the dragon's neck and Oghren doing his best to help, but the creature was still fighting hard and it knocked both of them clear. Alistair scrambled away as it went for him next and he slipped in the blood, losing his balance. Ffion went cold, watching in horror as the beast went for the kill, and then forced her body to move. She darted forward, not sure what she could do to keep both of them from dying, but _having_ to try anyway. The only thought that scrolled through her head was: _Not Alistair! Maker, please, not Alistair!_

Not heeding calls of her name or the ex-Templar's, Ffion dove at Alistair as the dragon reared back. She collided with his midsection, hitting his armor hard, and barely avoiding the razor-sharp sword in his hand. She knocked them both off balance and they stumbled from the dragon as Sten and Zevran interfered. With their limbs tangled together, Alistair couldn't catch himself when his boot hit a root wad, and he fell backwards, pulling Ffion with him. He landed hard on his back, knocking his breath from his lungs, and Ffion landed on his chest, her grey eyes wide with surprise when she found his face inches from hers. The ex-Templar wished fleetingly that he had his wits about him; if he did, he'd have taken the chance to explore her soft lips with much more attention given to the details… But there were six other people in the room, granted they were busy with finishing off the dragon, but he didn't think he could be _that_ forward. Not even with his growing feelings for his fellow Warden.

"Are you okay?" Ffion's voice was rather breathless and she frowned down at him in concern.

His hands gripped her slender waist rather idly and the roots digging into his legs and the goose-egg forming on the back of his head were going completely ignored. He could lay here with her for hours.

"Fine, I'm fine," He replied and his own voice was soft. He sent his crooked grin up at her, "It's a good thing you're the one who tackled me. Sten's way too heavy and Oghren… stinks."

She returned the smile, ignoring the sounds of the dragon dying behind her. The rest of the world seemed to disappear and she wondered at the soft light that entered Alistair's honey colored eyes.

"I-I was so afraid that you… I mean, that that thing was going to…" Her words trailed away and she felt her cheeks getting hot, "I don't want to lose you, Alistair, I don't know what I'd do."

Alistair was looking at her intently, rethinking his earlier doubts. A stubborn curl had fallen free of the thick braid that rested between her shoulders and he reached up, knocking it from her grey eyes, loving the silky texture. His grin had softened and he brushed her cheek, feeling the heat of her blush.

"You didn't lose me," He answered and neither of them registered the dull _thud_ of the dragon's body hitting the floor, "Thanks to you, I'm okay."

"If the birds are done, they may be interested in what exactly they fell into," Zevran's voice was amused and didn't hold a trace of the little flicker of jealousy that shot through him.

Alistair and Ffion both turned bright red and, after a couple of unsuccessful attempts to get to her feet, the ex-Templar grasped Ffion more firmly and helped her off of him. The Warden refused to look around at any of them and did her best to shrug off the glances exchanged between her companions. Instead, she turned and studied what it was she and Alistair had stumbled into. It was the dragon's horde; the big pile was partly buried with dirt and roots, and had been added to for so many years that it would take days to find out what all was there. Zevran was already inspecting a few of the trunks and Ffion rifled through a pile Tilly was nosing curiously.

"How much're we gonna take with us?" Oghren asked, cleaning his axe-blade.

"Right now?" Ffion clarified, continuing past her Mabari when it was clear she hadn't found anything other than a pile of bones. The Warden was much more interested in the door than the dragon's horde, wondering how vast this ruin was, "None of it. Let's get through the rest of this first."


	55. Chapter 55

**A/N:** So, a little early this time around and I have to say I really like the way the ending of this chapter turned out. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

She ignored the protests from the Dwarf and Zevran, who had successfully opened two of the trunks, and pushed the warped door open. Tilly was right behind her and the others had no choice but to follow; letting her continue without them was out of the question. They stood in a long, dark hallway, and in the flickering of the few torches, a specter of an Elven woman was just visible. It didn't seem aware of them and as the companions ventured further, it disappeared. In its place, a dozen of the skeletal undead, exactly like those that had plagued Redcliffe, popped up. They surrounded the companions and attacked with only the sounds of ancient bones rattling together. This ultimately was their downfall. It was a quick fight, the skeletal warriors broke apart like kindling and Ffion let Morrigan precede her down the next hallway. Another cave-in forced them to turn more eastward and the witch repeated her previous work on the thick, white webs that swathed the way forward. She was quick and efficient, and the spiders that hunkered in their burrows never suspected a thing. The hallway led them into another cavernous room and a second specter, this time an Elven boy.

Leliana's lips parted in surprise and pity and she approached the ghost, who seemed as unaware of them as the previous one. His small face was a mask of worry and fear and it was clear the Orlesian wanted to help. She extended one hand to the little ghost and she had just started speaking when he disappeared and, once more, the skeletons showed up. There were more this time around and that made the fight more intense, but Morrigan and Wynne's magic was too much for the brittle warriors and they were dispatched without too many injuries. There wasn't anything of interest in the room and the companions pressed on, heading further down the twists and turns of the hallways. There were smaller groups of the skeletal warriors, but nothing they couldn't handle, and soon they were standing before another door. Zevran was quick to pick the lock and when they pulled the door open, there was the familiar scraping of bones on the stone floor and then the distinctive _twang_ of bowstrings.

Ffion, just about to enter the room, was yanked away by Alistair and the companions pressed themselves against the wall to avoid being shot. Leliana and Morrigan both eased back and stood at a distance, picking off the archers they could see through the doorway, while Wynne cast her protective spell over it. Oghren only put up with hiding for so long. He loosed his axe and started forward, patting Wynne's hip with a leer.

"Good 'nough," He muttered, "Our turn."

He dashed forward into the room, the axe swinging, and just missed three of the triggers that Ffion and Zevran both bent to disarm. Alistair and Sten bypassed the pair, being smart enough to wait and make sure there wasn't a threat, and chased after the Dwarf while Tilly stood guard over her lady. There weren't any warriors in this room, just the archers and they didn't stand a chance against the three that methodically worked their way around and cut down all of them. Zevran was quick to transfer his attention from the traps to the few trunks along the walls before Ffion could hasten them out and he rifled through the contents as the Warden picked her way across the floor, watching for anymore traps. Wynne, Morrigan, and Leliana entered the room as well and they followed after Alistair and Ffion as the Wardens went to the next door. The Orlesian was looking around at the walls in curiousity, her pale blue eyes studying the few idols that were housed in niches scattered throughout the room.

"Does anyone know what these deities are?" She questioned.

As a reflex, everyone glanced at Wynne who, along with the healer role, had become their resident teacher and walking library. The Enchanter smiled indulgently, slipping her staff to her back, and approaching one of the niches. She studied the crude little statue for a moment and then lifted her shoulders. Her face creased in a thoughtful frown as she answered the Orlesian.

"I am not sure what this one is supposed to be," She began slowly, "The history of the Elves has been lost for so many generations and the Dalish deserve our commendation for recovering what they can, but the history of their old gods is still a mystery. They have found runes and a few scattered records of a handful, that's what the tattoos on their faces stand for, and many of the city Elves have turned to Andraste and the Maker. It's a fascinating study, though, and it is encouraging to see so many of these intact. Zathrian may be interested in researching them; we will have to let him know about it."

"Did we come down here to continue our fight against the Darkspawn or discuss foreign gods?" Sten wasn't really asking and he stood at the door as Ffion grinned up at him and joined him, "I did not follow the Wardens thinking to become a scholar."

"You, a scholar?" Zevran repeated as he handed one of the lockpicks over to Ffion and watched her work, "Not unless they can make a broadsword that writes, yes?"

"He's got a point there," Alistair leaned against the wall beside the door, admiring his fellow Warden's small hands and dwelling on the feel of her soft hair and slight weight against him.

"Now you two are agreeing on something?" Ffion's voice was distracted, but mockingly astonished, "The world _is_ coming to an end. Ah, thanks, Zev."

She tossed the lockpick to the Elf as the tumblers in the lock fell and stepped back when Sten grasped the handle before she could. They entered yet another dim hallway and pressed on, weapons at the ready as more skeletons attacked. There were just a few twists and turns and then another set of double doors, these ones unlocked. The room beyond them was huge: the ceiling soared away and there was a big support directly ahead of them that blocked the rest of the place from view. Two sets of stairs led down on either side of this and a handful of skeletal warriors appeared as they moved to venture further. As usual, the fight was quick and the companions went down the steps and onto the second landing. A wide, sweeping staircase led to an open floor covered with what looked like decorative flagstones below them and the broad landing had two tables that were shoved against each wall. Wynne and Morrigan studied the books and vials that scattered the surface of the table closest to them. A heavy layer of dust covered everything and Wynne dispersed it with a wave of her staff. Morrigan rifled through a pile of worn parchment as the Enchanter picked up an ancient tome. She studied the spiky, rather heavy-handed writing and then glanced around at the others.

"No surprise," She muttered, looking at the papers Morrigan was reading and then at those flagstones below, "It seems these places attract the worst kind."

Alistair frowned as he approached the Enchanter and Oghren and Sten moved to the top of the stairs to scope things out.

"'Worst kind?'" He repeated, "What do you mean?"

Wynne extended the book to show him a particularly nasty illustration of a human sacrifice.

"Blood magic and its sister black magic, and of course, their results: necromancy."

Oghren had reached the halfway point of the steps and Wynne seemed to have uttered the magic word. There was a sharp _crack_ and what looked like a more grandiose and powerful spirit abomination appeared over one of the odd flagstones. Oghren cursed, diving to one side as the monster flung its power at them. Sten had side-stepped as well, but the others were too shocked by the suddenness of it all to move. The surge of the spell flew by them, skirting Ffion's back with a white-hot heat, and she jerked forward with a cry. A sharp smell stung their nostrils and Zevran was the first to react when they realized the Warden's thick braid had caught fire. He snatched up an old discarded rug and flew to her. Wynne was distracted, helping Sten and Oghren as they battled the spirit, and so Morrigan turned to the Warden and helped Zevran douse the flames before they did much more damage. She drenched Ffion with a torrent of water, worried that the fire would spread further in her leather armor, and the Warden pulled away from Zevran. She knocked his hands away, making him drop the rug, and gave her head a shake.

"Nevermind me!" She exclaimed impatiently as the spirit abomination disappeared from its corner and popped up over a different flagstone. The skeletons were attacking Sten and Oghren and the monster's power surged through the room, "Help them!"

Her words stopped Alistair in his tracks and he tossed her one last worried look before racing down the steps. Leliana was already perched on the landing, firing rapidly and taking down the skeletons without trouble. Wynne had cast her protective spell over Oghren as three of the skeletons bore down on him, and then Alistair scattered them and Morrigan distracted the abomination. Ffion, shrugging off the sharp burn in her neck and shoulders, bolted down the steps with Zevran and Tilly in tow and joined the mayhem. The warriors were dispatched with ease and they were able to turn their attention to the spirit abomination, which very quickly pissed them off with its trick of transporting from one flagstone to the other in a blink of the eye. Morrigan was the first to lose her temper. She drew her magic to herself and froze the monster on one of its portals, allowing Sten and Alistair enough time to leap at it, blades slicing through the air and taking it down. Ffion slid her blades away as everyone else did and reached back with one hand to feel her braid. She barely noticed Wynne's little movement that seemed to pull the water from her clothes and armor.

"It looks bad, Ffion," Leliana said forlornly as she approached.

The Warden didn't really need to be told that, she could feel the scorched hair. The burn began at shoulder length and the ends were frayed and dead, great clumps of it were charred beyond help, and she felt the wrench even as she steeled herself for what had to be done. She pulled one of her daggers loose and held it out to the Orlesian.

"Then would you chop it off, please?" She said and it was barely a question.

Leliana's eyes widened and she shook her head a little.

"What?"

It wasn't just the Orlesian that asked. Alistair and Zevran's voices joined hers and they were aghast at the suggestion. The ex-Templar especially felt the rub. He greatly admired her long hair and it seemed like blasphemy to even suggest cutting it short. Zevran's amber eyes were unhappy as well, though he knew Ffion was right in doing this. There was no way to repair the damage that had been done.

"Ffion…" Leliana said slowly, eying the braid, "Your lovely hair…"

Ffion let out a sigh, annoyed. She was hoping to get this done before she lost her courage and that was already disappearing. As little as she normally cared about her appearance, she had always preserved some vanity for her long hair. She had been told numerous times how beautiful it was and she put up with the hassle of it being so long because her father loved it. The thought of Bryce and realizing that cutting her hair would be cutting a tie to her old life crushed her heart a little more and she turned to Morrigan, catching the unhappy look that crossed Zevran's face. She knew he saw that chasm more clearly and she spoke to the witch before he could say anything.

"Morrigan, would you do it? There's no way to save this mess and at least this way it won't get tangled in my swords anymore."

"Me?" Morrigan questioned, her brows arching up, "Am I nursemaid now?"

"No, but you happen to be one of three that aren't sentimental about such things and I don't want Asala anywhere near my neck," The Warden shrugged her slender shoulders and then sent Oghren a grin as something close to amusement flickered in Sten's violet eyes, "And as for Oghren… well, I'm just too tall."

The Dwarf grinned back and lifted his flask.

"Nah, yer jus' the right height, boss."

Morrigan inclined her head, not responding to Oghren's innuendo, but she didn't take the knife. She dug into her little pack and tugged out a pair of scissors instead.

"Very well, but let us use these," She replied, motioning for the Warden to turn around, "They will be much better than the knife."

Ffion's eyes met Alistair's as she felt the witch take hold of her braid, and she lifted her shoulders a little.

"Not much else to do," She said, almost like she was apologizing, and then closed her eyes as she felt the first slice of the scissors.

Alistair watched in dismay as the heavy braid came loose and Ffion's hair sprang into tight curls about her neck.

"It just seems like such a waste," He replied softly.

Morrigan worked methodically and soon, Ffion's chocolate curls were swinging just above her shoulders, the spirals more intense with the extra weight gone. The witch was handing the Warden her braid and putting her scissors away.

"I am not sentimental, but you are," She said, "I suppose you wish to keep this?"

Ffion took the heavy hair in one hand, tossing her head and trying to get used to the absence of it. She stroked the burnt patches and could see more clearly now that she had made the right move. There were broad expanses that were badly burnt and there would have been no way to cut out those sections and still keep the length. She reached up with her free hand and tousled the curls. It felt so strange, but she knew she would get used to it; she didn't really have a choice. With another brief glance at Alistair's face, she had a sudden thought, but she didn't want to act on it with everyone watching.

"Thanks, Morrigan," She answered finally, "It feels… great; weird, but great."

The witch nodded again and the companions dispersed a little to study the room. Wynne gave Ffion a gentle smile as the Warden clasped the end of her braid, staring at it with the same affection that she showed Tilly. The Enchanter stepped forward and put her hand on one shoulder.

"It grows back, Ffion," She said quietly, "It's only hair."

Ffion gave a little nod and then tipped her mouth in a bitter smile.

"It's the end of an era," She replied and tucked her newly shorn hair behind her ears, "That's always bitter-sweet… And this will take forever to get used to."

"Here, love," Leliana held out a broad band of dark green cloth, the ends of which were tied tightly together, "You can use this as a hair band. At least it will not fall into your eyes, no?"

"Thanks, Leliana," She said and put her braid gently on the floor.

She straightened herself and saw that Tilly was the only one that lingered beside her. Sten, Oghren, and Zevran were disappearing into a room that was off to the left, while Leliana moved away to join Wynne and Alistair as they studied the abomination. Morrigan was fascinated by the flagstone portals that the monster had used and Ffion took the time to follow through with her previous thought. She shoved the band into her hair, pushing it well back to keep the curls from her face and shook her head again, still shocked by how light she felt. She crouched, spreading her braid across her legs and unraveling it the rest of the way. She separated out a much smaller, less damaged portion, fastened one end, and, with deft, experienced fingers, braided it tightly, tying another leather band about this end, too. Her hands stilled for a moment and she hesitated, studying the whole mass, before pulling out one more section and laying the rest aside, her heart twisting. She just didn't have room in her little pack and though she felt as though she was leaving behind what remained of her previous life, what remained of Ffion Cousland, there was nothing for it. _The end of an era_, she had said to Wynne and it was amazing how much that hurt. Letting out a breath and stroking Tilly's soft ears as the Mabari came close and whined at her, she got to her feet. She tucked both cuttings of the braid into her pack and called to the others as she crossed the room to the opposite doorway of the one Zevran, Oghren, and Sten had used.

The others slowly trickled after her and there was another doorway here that led into the ruins. Zevran purposefully lingered when he spotted what remained of Ffion's mass of curls laying on the floor; calling that he would be there in a moment. He bent and gently ran his fingers through the silky soft strands before finding a less damaged lock and picking it up. Twining it around one finger, he straightened and then turned his attention to his belt where he twisted the long curly lock around it with the rest of his little trophies and mementos. That done, he slid into the room with the rest and joined the companions as they went through the doorway and into the werewolves' lair.


	56. Chapter 56

**A/N: **Late again, I know. I had a really off weekend last week and nothing seemed to go quite right. But anyway, here's the next installment and I hope you enjoy. Take care! Oh, and I kept the Lady's conversation pretty much as it is in the game so all the credit goes to Bioware, naturally.

* * *

The little entry was dim and narrow and the door ahead unlocked, but the moment they opened it, the wolves attacked. Three sprang from the very shadows and two more were running across the cramped, low-ceilinged room they stepped into. Tilly tackled one and Leliana was quick to help when the Mabari yelped. Oghren and Sten took turns with a second, while Morrigan and Zevran teamed up for one of very few times to battle with two more. The others were kept busy and Ffion was quickly getting accustomed to her shorter hair. As soon as the wolves were gone, the companions walked through the next room and found more of the wolves to go up against. There were two stairways that led down to dead ends opposite one another and, further into the room, there were two more. Directly ahead was a fifth that still continued downward and Ffion led the way, her swords drawn.

She slowed as they came to the bottom and stopped at the last step. Three wolves blocked the way forward; all standing on their hind legs, and one moved forward. His coat was a beautiful silver-grey and his striking yellow eyes were wary. Clearly he was not looking for a fight.

"Hold, human," He said, his voice rasping, "We have no desire to attack you; we have lost too many of our fellows. The Lady has asked me to extend a parley to you and your companions. She wishes for you to hear the whole tale, not just what that traitorous Elf has said. Will you accept?"

Ffion studied the wolf, feeling the others' eyes on her. She slowly straightened herself, refusing to brush her curls back as they tickled her neck. There was every chance in the world that this could be a trap and the wolf seemed to sense her thoughts. He gave a wave of one paw and his two companions eased up with him. His yellow eyes were on the Warden.

"We are vastly out-numbered, human," He added, "And would be dead before an alarm could be raised if you intend to attack without instigation. Our Lady wishes to speak with you, will you allow a moment of your time or no?"

The Warden hesitated for half a second longer and than inclined her head. She didn't put her swords away and ignored the muttering that started up behind her.

"Okay, we'll hear her out," She answered, "Lead the way."

The wolf returned her nod and then added as the companions gingerly followed after Ffion,

"One false move, human, one attempt on the Lady's life, and I will return from Beyond to torment you forever. Understood?"

Ffion smiled faintly, rubbing Tilly's head as the Mabari growled at the threat.

"Understood."

They were admitted to another huge cavern, the very last room in the ruins. Sunlight shafted even far down here and trees lined the walls on either side of them: slender alder and oak like those growing above their heads. And straight ahead there was a massive tree that had taken root here and grown over the centuries so that it towered through the caverns, twisting and turning to follow the sunlight that seeped into the ruins. Before this was a raised dais and standing along the edge of it were roughly a dozen werewolves, all of which snarled and growled at Ffion's party as they entered. But the Warden only had eyes for the Lady who stood with the same ruddy red wolf that had threatened them at the bridge and the entrance to the ruins. Green skinned, with roots and vines twining around her arms and legs, the Lady truly looked as though she belonged to nature and nothing else. Her hair was a darker black than Morrigan's and draped down over her shoulders to cover her breasts. The vines that wrapped her legs and forearms blossomed every now and then with brilliant colors and her eyes were steady, deep pools of dark green. She studied them with interest and when she spoke, they were reminded of the grand oak. Her voice was deep for a woman and it echoed through the cavern with the sense that it was as much a part of this place as the tree behind her.

"I thank you, mortal, for agreeing to the parley," She said, "I worry that you do not know the scope of the action Zathrian wishes you to take."

"And you know what Zathrian has told us… how, exactly?" Ffion questioned, her curiousity growing by the second.

"I simply know that there are things he would not tell you, things that you would need to know to make such an important decision," The Lady paused for a moment, drawing in a breath and continuing in a heavy voice, "It was Zathrian that created the curse that these people suffer. The same curse that his people now suffer."

Ffion's lips parted in surprise and she felt Alistair stiffen beside her as Wynne let out a soft exhalation.

"Ah, I believe that clears up one mystery at least," Morrigan's cool voice was barely even startled at this news, "'Twas quite obvious he was hiding something big, was it not?"

"He's responsible?" Ffion cocked her head at the Lady, getting over her surprise and wondering what the rest of this tale would reveal, "So how did all of this start, then? Something must have set him off."

The Lady nodded and her expression had become even more grieved. The wolves that stood with her still eyed Ffion's party suspiciously, but it was quite clear that they would not attack without her word.

"Centuries ago, when the Dalish first came to this land, a tribe of humans lived close to this Forest. They sought to drive the Dalish away. Zathrian was a young man then. He had a son and daughter he loved greatly and while they were out hunting, the humans captured them."

The ruddy wolf took over the story, his rasping voice somewhat gentled as he related his portion of the tale.

"They tortured and killed the boy. The girl, they raped and left for dead. The Dalish found her, but she learned later that she was with child. She took her own life," The wolf let that sink in for a minute and then went on, "Zathrian came to this ruin and summoned the spirit of the Forest, binding it to the body of a great, white wolf. And so Witherfang came to be. The great wolf Witherfang hunted down the human tribe. Many were killed and others were cursed by his blood, becoming twisted and savage creatures."

"Twisted and savage just as Witherfang himself is," The Lady's voice was saddened, "They were driven into the Forest. When the human tribe finally left for good, the cursed brethren remained: pitiful and mindless animals."

The ruddy red wolf dropped to a crouch beside the Lady, lowering his great head. He was almost humble in such a pose and his voice more gentle than ever.

"Until I met you, my lady. You gave me peace."

She reached out with a hand that was made up of long slender twigs and vines, stroking the fur of his neck. Her dark green eyes were tender as she smiled a little.

"I showed Swiftrunner there was another side to his bestial nature. I soothed his rage and his humanity emerged. And he brought the others to me."

She waved her other hand, encompassing the rest of the wolves. Zevran had sidled up to stand at Ffion's elbow and he was the next to speak.

"So you spread the curse to Zathrian's people so that he would know your pain, yes? This is why the Dalish are affected? For revenge?"

"In part," The Lady's gentleness had become steel and she suddenly seemed more wild, "The crimes committed against Zathrian and his children were grave, but they were committed centuries ago by those long dead. Word has been sent to Zathrian each time the Landships pass this way, but he has always ignored us. We will no longer be denied."

"The Elf is correct," Swiftrunner snarled, standing to his full height once more, "We spread the curse to his people so that his hand would be forced. He must end the curse to save them."

"Please, mortal," The Lady fixed her gaze on Ffion, her voice pleading, "Bring him here. If he sees these creatures, hears their plight, surely he will agree to end their curse. Tell him if he refuses, I will ensure that Witherfang is never found. He will never cure his clan."

Ffion absentmindedly slid her blades away, hardly realizing she was doing so, and her hands brushed the short curls. She gave them a thoughtful tousle and didn't look away from the Lady. The others were growing impatient behind her and she could feel Morrigan and Sten's thoughts already.

"How do we know that you aren't trying to trick us here?" She finally asked, "Zathrian isn't the only one capable of deception."

The Lady reached out and put one hand on Swiftrunner's arm to keep him from snapping at Ffion in response to this question. Her green eyes were calm; there wasn't even a flicker of annoyance.

"What do we have to gain by deceiving you?" She answered and her quiet voice was as direct as her eyes, "You are our one hope to end this torment. If we trick you here, how many more years will pass before another brave soul ventures to this ruin?"

"Well, with a welcome like the one you've given us, who would refuse?" Alistair was chipper and he sent a grin down at Ffion that momentarily made her forget what she was going to say.

"All right," The Warden managed and met the Lady's gaze once more, "We'll get Zathrian back here so that some more explaining can be done."

She motioned with one hand and started to turn, but the Lady stopped her.

"The way back to the entrance of the ruins will be opened for you," She said and stepped back, waving to a heavy, barred door that was to her right, "Thank you, mortal, for your help."

Swiftrunner himself went and opened the door for them, but they didn't speak until they were headed up the steps. Morrigan studied the Warden's shortened hair, thinking briefly how good a job she had done with so little experience, and then spoke.

"You are sure that this is right, Ffion?" She asked.

Ffion glanced quickly at her and then focused on the stairs again.

"You said that that was one mystery cleared up," She answered as they reached a landing in the middle of the staircase and pressed on, "Let's find out the others. Zathrian could have told us much more that first night; that was obvious. He knows the ruin was here, he knows there was a trick to getting into it, and _I_ want to know how many other secrets he's been keeping from us. I'm damn tired of the run-around and I'm not going to put up with it any longer."

Like Wynne before her, Ffion's words seemed to hold some sort of magic and when they reached the top of the staircase, there was Zathrian. He was crouching in the middle of the first room of the ruins, studying one of the skeletal warriors, the massive tree root ripping through the steps behind him. Dying daylight seeped into the hall and the Elf turned his head to look at them as they crowded the entrance.

"Can't say I'm too surprised to see you here," Ffion said dryly as the Keeper approached.

Zathrian was almost amused by that. He met her gaze directly.

"You had cleaved a passage through the Forest," He replied, "You cannot fault my desire to ensure my clan's well-being and see that the right thing is done."

Ffion snorted and folded her arms tightly over her chest.

"A passage that you knew well," Her voice was sharp and she felt her annoyance spike, "A little forewarning would have been nice."

Zathrian waved his hand dismissively.

"That is irrelevant now. Do you have the heart?"

The Warden allowed a little smile, wanting to knock the Elf off his pedestal and surprise him.

"No," She said simply, "There was a snag."

A flicker of annoyance spasmed over Zathrian's face and he narrowed his eyes.

"What do you mean 'a snag?'"

"Why didn't you just tell us the whole truth about this curse from the beginning?" She asked, ignoring his question, "We could have avoided a lot of grief."

Zathrian spread his arms, indicating the whole of the ruins.

"Would you have accepted if you knew its extent?" He countered, "You are a Warden and your Order's history makes this argument pointless. The Wardens have always used dire situations to their advantage and now is no exception. You need the Dalish to fulfill that treaty and I am making that possible. Are you changing your mind now?"

Alistair bristled, not liking the Keeper's tone.

"There's a line that Wardens try not to cross," He cut in, "And that's crossing into the exploitation of innocents. These wolves had nothing to do with the kidnapping of your son and daughter, and it's cruel to keep tormenting them like this."

"'Cruel?'" Zathrian's voice was full of a quiet fury, "Do not speak to me about cruelty. You did not see what was done to my son. You did not have to look into my daughter's eyes and see the pain and terror there. Nothing you have experienced gives you the right to sit judgement on my actions."

Ffion studied him closely and saw the veritable storm of pain cross his sharp features. She felt a sudden kinship with him. He had gone through a pain close to her own and she heard Leliana and Zevran shifting a little behind her. They had all experienced this in one way or another and she couldn't help but let her thoughts wander. _Would_ she hold Howe's descendants responsible for her family's destruction? She could see the broad, easy road that would lead that way, but in all honesty, could she walk it? She thought of Thomas, Howe's youngest and mirror image in every way. It would be easy to blame him. But Nathaniel and Delilah… Nate had been one of Fergus' dearest friends and had constantly warred with himself over his devotion to his father and the knowledge that Howe was a bastard. And Delilah was her father's antithesis in every way. She had been sweet and cheerful, always giving Ffion a welcoming smile; and unfortunately caught in a nobles' world which chaffed her at every turn. No, there was no way that Ffion could continue her campaign against them and that made her voice incredibly dry when she answered the Keeper.

"Try us," She said, her arms tightening for a brief moment, and she could feel Zevran's gaze on the back of her head. Her face really was too much of an open book, "I believe that I didn't actually promise you anything, I just came here to check the situation out, which we've done. They want an audience with you and before you start telling me that they will take the opportunity to attack you, I'll tell you that I won't let that happen. Their Lady wishes to speak with you and I trust that that is all she is after."

"And why should I trust to your word now?" His eyes were flickering with anger.

"Do you have another option?" Morrigan's cool voice answered, "Trust us, Keeper, these beasts are only looking to speak."

"You do realize that this Lady _is_ Witherfang, do you not?" He said, looking to knock Ffion about just as she did to him earlier.

"Ah, I though as much," The Warden refused to be baited, "She said that she had the power to ensure that Witherfang would never be found and you wouldn't cure your clan, so that makes sense. I wouldn't press your luck if I were you."

Zathrian studied the companions briefly, looking for any softening towards his cause, and then threw his hands up a little in defeat.

"Very well, I will meet with this Lady. Lead the way."


	57. Chapter 57

**A/N: **Finally had some time to post! The Lady and Zathrian's conversation is pretty much directly from the game, so all credit goes to clever Bioware. Enjoy!

* * *

When they returned to the cavern, the wolves were snarling and growling even more fiercely and everyone could feel the power that emanated from the Keeper. It surrounded him and both Wynne and Morrigan could sense it extending towards the slender trees that lined the walls. Swiftrunner was poised tensely beside the Lady and Ffion, Tilly, and Alistair all stepped forward of the others with Zathrian.

"So here you are, spirit," The Keeper said with a sneer.

Swiftrunner darted forward before anyone could blink and towered menacingly over Zathrian.

"She is the Lady of the Forest!" The wolf exclaimed, his rasping voice echoing through the cavern, and his teeth bared fiercely, "And you will address her properly."

The Lady said his name quietly and Swiftrunner reluctantly returned to her side, still snarling at the Keeper. Zathrian was less than impressed. His eyes roved over the wolves and then returned to the Lady with the air that this whole situation was well below his attention.

"I see you have taken a name, spirit," He was clearly using the word simply because it pissed off Swiftrunner, "And you have given names to these beasts that follow you."

"It was they who gave me a name, Zathrian," The Lady answered, her voice soft and sad. In contrast to the Keeper, she wasn't looking to rip and tear with her words, "And they follow me because I have helped them to find who they are."

Zathrian's cool collection gave way and his face was a mask of anger and pain.

"Who they are does not change whom their ancestors were," He snapped and was oblivious to the way the wolves coiled like springs, "It does not change what was done to my son and daughter. This… appearance they have taken on simply mirrors the savageness that exists in their hearts."

"He will not help us, Lady," Swiftrunner's words were a growl, "It is as I warned you. He's not here to talk."

"No, that is untrue," Zathrian had calmed himself some and his eyes were on the Lady, "I am here to talk, though I see little point in it. It goes against your nature as it goes against mine. We both know where this will lead, spirit."

The Lady walked forward, her beautiful face softening. Her gaze fixed on the Keeper and Ffion's party seemed forgotten. They were merely an audience to this battle of ancient wills.

"It does not have to be that way, Zathrian, I know there is room in your heart for compassion," Her voice had a plea that was impossible to ignore, "Surely your retribution is spent."

Zathrian looked for a moment like he was going to concede. His brown eyes lost their angry fire and there was nothing but a deep grief there. He studied her face avidly, caught in between those two fierce emotions, and then one of the wolves let out a small, soft growl, and he was all righteous anger again.

"My retribution is eternal, as is my pain," He replied and he fought to make his tone severe as he waved to the wolves, "This is justice, no more."

The Lady had turned away at his anger as though she had no wish to see it and stood with Swiftunner once more. She looked at the Keeper with a speculative air, cocking her dark head to one side.

"Are you certain that your pain is the only reason you will not end this curse?" She questioned, "Have you told the mortal how it was created?"

Ffion was rather surprised that they had mentioned her. With their severe expressions, their refusal to look at anyone but each other, she had thought her part in this dispute was forgotten. She glanced at Zathrian and watched his eyes flicker a little before she turned to the Lady.

"He said that you and Witherfang are one," She answered slowly and then shot another look at Swiftrunner, "So that must mean you are the spirit he bound to the wolf."

"That is so," The Lady inclined her head, "Witherfang and I are bound as one being, but such powerful magic could not be accomplished without Zathrian's own blood. Your people believe you have rediscovered the secret of immortality, Zathrian, but that is not so. So long as the curse exists, so do you."

"No!" Zathrian exclaimed, putting his hands up, "That is not so."

Ffion looked at the Keeper thoughtfully and Wynne was the next to speak.

"So this means Zathrian's death would end the curse?" She asked and it was clear she hated even suggesting it.

"No, the curse has a life of its own," The Lady was grieved again and she shared Wynne's hesitation and distaste, "Zathrian's death only has a small part to play in this."

"Then let us kill him and get it over with," Swiftrunner crouched, ready to spring.

"For all your powers of speech, you are beasts still," Zathrian said, his voice cool and not in the least bit concerned by the wolf's anger. He was dismissive and superior, rivaling Morrigan as he added, "What good would it do you to kill me? I am the only one who knows the ritual to end the curse and I will not perform it."

"You see, Lady! We must kill them all!" Swiftrunner snarled furiously and Tilly's hackles rose in response.

Zathrian swung around to face Ffion and Alistair. The grief was gone from his brown eyes and they were snapping furiously.

"And do you see?" He demanded, "They turn on you as quickly. Do what you came here to do, Warden, or get out of my way."

It was an interesting show-down. The Lady was the only one keeping the wolves from leaping on Zathrian and tearing him apart; and the companions, weapons in hand, had fixed their attention on Ffion, waiting for her word. The Warden hadn't moved, she was studying Zathrian again, deep in thought, and she didn't realize that even the Lady was listening for her answer. She could smell the musky fur of the wolves, the dank air of the cavern, in spite of the sunlight shafting down and those slender trees; the destruction here was worse than above and it made her wonder how much longer these ruins would hold up. Thoughts of the centuries that the wolves had passed here, slowly coming to back to their human feelings and emotions, tortured her like it must have tortured them. To realize that _this_ would be everyday life for Maker knew how long, knowing that everyone outside of this Forest would run, screaming, in the opposite direction as she approached, never considering _helping_, softened her heart for the wolves' cause. She met the Keeper's gaze, hearing Morrigan's soft sigh as the witch read her face expertly, and shook her head a little.

"I'm sorry, Zathrian," She said firmly, "The Lady's right. The only sin these wolves committed was having the wrong ancestors. You can't keep them captive like this any longer."

"We're standing for what's right here," Alistair added and his presence at Ffion's elbow was reassuring as he pulled his sword free and lifted his shield arm.

Zathrian was angry, but once again it was more grief than fury. He stepped back from the dais as the companions crowded towards the wolves and pulled his staff from his back. His power surged through the room with Morrigan and Wynne's and made the air crackle with magic. The trees lining the walls were snapping and popping as they woke and there was a bright flash of light and a howl as the Lady morphed into Witherfang.

"Then you shall die with the rest of them," The Keeper said, "You shall all know my pain."

He conjured a shield of energy around himself as the trees slowly stomped forward to go against the wolves and Ffion's party. The link that joined Witherfang and Zathrian was such that the wolf could not attack him and so she turned her attention to one of the wild sylvans with a group of her kin. There were eight of these that were doing their best to take down any of the wolves or companions, and Zathrian also summoned a handful of shrieks that helped even out his odds. Morrigan and Wynne were kept busy with protecting the others from the Keeper's steady bolts and Ffion and Zevran darted through the shrieks, hacking away at them. Sten and Oghren were detrimental to taking down the sylvans and Leliana fired at Zathrian rapidly, trying to get any arrows past that shield of magic. Tilly was more at ease fighting with the wolves, but she joined her lady the instant that Ffion turned to the Keeper with Morrigan beside her. Swiftrunner was on their heels and Wynne ignited two of the sylvans that were making for their unprotected backs. There were only three trees left now and the wolves kept them busy, the last of the shrieks were disposed of, and Morrigan had broken through Zathrian's shield. He recovered quickly, swinging his staff at Ffion who ducked away and took it to her shoulder rather than her head. She danced away further as Morrigan shot a bolt of energy at the Keeper and Zevran sprang forward from the shadows behind him. His blades gleamed in the dim light and he would have ended everything, but Zathrian sensed his presence and side-stepped quickly. Instead of hitting the Keeper, Zevran's blades knocked into his staff and sent it clattering away across the floor. The Elf had turned about, but Ffion was suddenly there, grabbing his arm as Zathrian fell heavily to his knees and bowed his head.

"No," Alistair's voice was breathless with the exertion of the fight and he held Oghren back as the Dwarf started for the kneeling Elf, "Wait."

The Lady was herself again and had her hands full with restraining the wolves. All of them were as keen as Oghren to reach Zathrian and she was the only reason they hadn't pounced. They were loathe to go against her wishes and this worked well in the Keeper's favor. He lifted his head slowly, meeting Ffion's gaze, and looking older than he ever had before. His deep brown eyes were exhausted and pain-filled and the fight had taken a lot out of him.

"You - you would show me mercy?" He asked and his voice was disbelieving.

Ffion arched her brows, letting go of Zevran as Tilly came close and leaned against her thigh. She glanced down at the hound briefly, but Tilly was fine.

"The second line I will not cross is cutting down those that surrender," She answered coolly, "That makes two for me. What's your count at again?"

Oghren chuckled as Zevran grinned wickedly at her. Sten approached, Asala still grasped tightly and violet eyes hard as they fixed on Zathrian.

"He does not deserve our mercy, kadan," The Qunari said, "Let us end this."

"Agreed," Snarled Swiftrunner, coiling again to spring forward.

The Lady was suddenly there, one twig and vine hand pressing against Swiftrunner's arm.

"No, Swiftrunner!" Her voice was deeper in its command and the wolf fell back, lowering his head in consent. Leliana's protest had been drowned in the Lady's and the Orlesian didn't get a chance to say anymore, "If we do not have room in our hearts for mercy, how can we expect to find any in his? No, we will not kill him."

Leliana and Wynne relaxed, smiling gently at the Lady. The wolves collectively snarled and growled, but didn't move towards Zathrian who shook his head.

"I cannot do as you ask, spirit," He said softly and winced as he got to his feet, "I am too old to know mercy anymore. All I can see are the faces of my children and my clan… I cannot."

Compassion tugged at Ffion's heart and she saw something of the hopelessness that came so close to consuming her. She slid her swords away and straightened her shoulders.

"Zathrian, are you really willing to let your clan die? For this?" She asked, matching his tone with her own.

The Keeper looked at her for a long moment and then gave a sigh that was exhaustion itself.

"Perhaps I have lived too long," He was talking more to himself than them, "This hatred within me is like a gnarled root. It has consumed my soul… And what of you, spirit? You are bound to the curse as I am. Do you not fear your end?"

The Lady gave him an indulgent smile, showing the tenderness that seemed so odd in this situation with the wolves staring at Zathrian in so much hungry hate.

"You are my maker, Zathrian," She replied, "You gave me form and consciousness where there was none. I have known pain and love, hope and fear, all the joy that is life. Yet of all things, I desire nothing more than an end. I beg you, maker… put an end to me. _We_ beg you… show mercy."

Zathrian's face was lined and old. His mouth tipped in a bitter smile and he spread his hands.

"You shame me, spirit. I am an old man, alive long past his time."

The Lady's lips parted and she bent forward a little, her expression showing that she just barely dared to hope.

"Then you will do it? You will end this curse?"

Zathrian stepped forward.

"Yes, it is time," His voice was heavy, but the relief of the decision had cleared his face some, "Let us… Let us end this together."

The Lady smiled and it transformed her face into such an ethereal beauty that even Zevran was without a smart comment. Wynne fetched Zathrian's staff as the werewolves crowded around their Lady and her maker. Even on their furred faces, the sorrow was evident and Ffion's companions withdrew against the walls as soon as the Keeper had his staff again, giving them privacy. The Lady's smile had faded and she was touching each one in turn, murmuring quiet words for their ears only while Zathrian drew a steady stream of power to surround them. Swiftrunner was the last one she wished farewell and the ruddy wolf whined quietly as she pressed one vined hand against his head. He rubbed it briefly, his eyes closed, and then he nodded as she whispered to him. After a moment, she turned to Zathrian and gave him a nod. The Keeper raised the staff in one hand and the magic thickened the air, making it feel heavy, and then he struck the end against the stone floor. He remained standing for a split-second and then with a last soft breath, he fell almost gracefully to the ground. The Lady gasped at the same instant, taking one step forward, and pressing a hand to her lips. Swiftrunner placed one huge paw on her shoulder and the others closed ranks as a shaft of light started at the Lady's feet and then encompassed them all. It grew brighter and brighter and then faded almost as quickly as it came.

In the wolves' place, humans were now standing. They stared at their arms and legs in absolute wonder before turning to each other, embracing and laughing. One turned to Ffion and Alistair, his eyes still that startling bluish-green. His smile was broad and friendly and it was clear now why Swiftrunner had been the biggest of the wolves. He was about the size of Murdock with broad shoulders and his hair the same reddish-brown that his fur had been.

"It's over…" He said in wonder, his voice husky and deep, "She's gone and… we're human. I can't believe it."

Ffion returned his smile, feeling his joy in spite of the way he had seemed so heartbroken over the Lady's departure.

"Well, now what?" Alistair asked them.

"We'll leave the Forest, find other humans, and see what's out there for us," He glanced behind him at the others and then his mouth tipped in another smile, "It should be interesting, don't you think?"

"Tha's one word fer it," Oghren offered.

Swiftrunner bowed to Ffion, his eyes not leaving hers.

"I thank you, serah," He told her, "All of you. We will never forget you."

They left the cavern and hurried up the steps, eager to start their new life.

"Hopefully there is something left for them in this Blight," Leliana murmured.

All eyes went to Ffion who was bending over Zathrian's body and closing his staring eyes with a gentle hand.

"Let's hope that I didn't just royally screw us all over by allowing the clan's Keeper to kill himself instead, yeah?" She said and then glanced at Sten, "Would it be too much to ask you to carry him back to the clan? At least they could give him a proper burial then."

Wynne picked up the discarded staff once more, Zevran roamed the room, looking for anything to assist them on their travels, and Morrigan was tightening a cord around her staff. Sten stepped forward and scooped the Keeper's body into his arms and Ffion led the way up the stairs and out of the ruin. Dusk was settling in and Wynne and Morrigan both conjured balls of light at the ends of their staffs to light their way and the stars were brilliant in the sky by the time they reached the Dalish camp. Evidently the curse had ended in the same moment for the Elves as it had for the wolves and the celebration was in full swing when the companions' rather somber procession entered.

Lanaya and a few of the other eldest Elves hurried forward, their faces drawn as they saw their Keeper cradled in Sten's powerful arms. The Qunari handed him over to one of the Elves with an uncharacteristic gentleness. The rest of the clan had fallen silent and Lanaya's voice seemed to reverberate around the camp.

"Is he… is he… gone?" Her words were broken and tears had started in her bright brown eyes.

"I'm sorry, Lananya, he is," Ffion had tempered her voice and she reached out with one hand to press the First's shoulder, "He gave his life to cure his people and died a hero. The werewolves are also gone; your clan has nothing to fear."

Lanaya swallowed her sorrow enough to return Ffion's smile with a tremulous one of her own. She inclined her head and straightened her shoulders.

"Then as Keeper of this clan, I promise the Grey Wardens our aid," She said, her voice strong, "Call us and we will be there to fight at your side. Tonight, we will be busy with Zathrian's burial, of course, but you are welcome to camp here again, and please help yourself to our meal. We are in your debt for saving our poor cursed brethren. Ma serannas."

"Thank you, Keeper," The Warden replied, "We will leave in the morning, then."

She motioned to her companions and they retreated once more to a corner of the camp. After the tents were staked, Oghren, Sten, Zevran, and Leliana all wandered over to the cooking fire to eat while Wynne set out her potion ingredients and began brewing over their little fire. Morrigan retreated to her tent with Flemeth's grimoire and Alistair ducked into his as well. After discarding her armor Ffion moved away to the other side of their tents, stopping just at the edge of the firelight, and sat on a tree that had been downed long ago. Tilly sprawled beside her and rested her heavy head on her lady's feet. The Warden absentmindedly dug one hand into her pocket and pulled out the lock of braided hair. She stared into the darkness, hearing the sounds of the fires crackling behind her and the gentle pops and hisses of Wynne's work. Somewhere below her a creek bubbled and little creatures rustled in the bushes; the soft, cool breeze made the tree branches creak and the occasional hoot of an owl was a rather mournful note.

Ffion was deep in her thoughts, her fingers stroking the braid, when the Elves' music floated to her. At first, it was just the quiet strumming of a harp and haunting notes from a flute, and then one of the Elves began to sing, her voice echoing through the camp and making Wynne's work cease as she listened. Ffion didn't turn to look behind her, instead she closed her eyes and let the melancholy melody, sung in Elvish, speak to her heart. Her brain, though, stayed busy. She didn't feel any joy or even much relief that they were finally _done_ with the treaties, with running around the country performing acts of heroism that should never have been asked of her companions, sleeping on thin cots on the hard ground, facing down foes, mortal and immortal, whose first thoughts were to deceive and destroy; gaining forces to take down yet another of those foes and face off with one that very well could destroy all they loved and believed in… Her heart wasn't registering it, really. Instead she was thinking of the bastard Howe and wondering how much longer she would have to put up with the knowledge that the son of a bitch was still walking the earth, whole and happy, while her family was lying cold in their graves… if they had any, that is.

"Good, you kept some," Alistair's voice was quietly pleased as he settled beside her. He had abandoned his breastplate and the rest of the upper armor since they would be staying in the camp and the brown of his shirt was even darker with the dim light.

It was only then that Ffion realized the music had ended and Wynne was working again. She glanced sidelong at the ex-Templar, feeling her face start to color as she remembered how gently he had tucked her curls behind her ear and said with such tenderness: _You didn't lose me_. Unconsciously, she tightened her fingers around the braided hair and then recalled just why it was that she had kept this lock.

"Well, it had a kind of… special purpose," She replied and was doubly grateful for the poor light. Her face was crimson and she wouldn't have been surprised if he could feel the heat of her blush, "I haven't forgotten how sweet you were when you gave me that rose and… and all those nice things you said… and I just, I don't know. I guess I want to return the favor."

He frowned, his honey eyes darker and more than a little confused. His shoulder and knee bumped her own since the log was short and his lips parted, but she didn't want him talking just yet. She was afraid she'd lose her nerve and she wanted to see this through, knowing it was somehow the right thing to do.

"You were so unhappy about this and, well, we have no idea what tomorrow is going to bring and since I have the rose you gave me… I wanted you to have this," She extended the long braided lock and couldn't meet his gaze, "It's just… something to remember me by in case… in case the worst happens."

Alistair blinked at her, taking the hair in one hand and smiling tenderly. He wound the braid through his fingers, admiring the silky softness, and then glancing up at Ffion's face. The firelight flickered towards them, but it wasn't nearly bright enough to truly read her expression. He could tell simply by her voice that she was blushing and her grey eyes were fixed on the braid that he clasped. His heart thudded heavily as he studied the curve of her mouth and remembered how soft her lips had been. The ache to try it again was stronger than it had ever been before and, as usual, it gave him the courage he normally didn't have. He reached out with his free hand and tipped her chin up, wanting to look in her eyes, and then stroked her cheek. When she didn't stop him, didn't shy away, he cocked his head a little closer, still trying to make her look at him.

"I love this, Ffion," He told her, his voice husky, "But you know I'd remember you, no matter what. You've come to mean… so much to me."

Her grey eyes locked on his at those words and her mouth tipped slightly. Alistair felt his nerve rushing back as his fear of being seen vanished. He bent closer and Ffion's heart leaped into her throat. Her face was still flaming, but in all honesty, the thought of Alistair kissing her was… well, terrific. She had just lifted her chin when a new voice spoke, breaking this moment, and making her jump.

"My dove?" Zevran's voice carried to them, "I have some meat of a most appetizing little hare for you. You must eat something."

Alistair had dropped his hand, but was still looking at her with rather smouldering eyes. Ffion sent him an apologetic smile, eternally grateful for the tents that were partially hiding them from view.

"All right, Zev," She replied, "I'll be there in a minute."

Her gaze met the ex-Templar's and for a moment, she felt a dart of boldness that had always made her rather reckless. She got to her feet and then bent, putting one hand on his shoulder and kissing his cheek. His eyes widened with surprise as he looked up at her. She tousled his hair a little, like she used to do with Gilmore, though a voice in her head told her her feelings for Alistair were _very_ different than those for her friend.

"Thank you, Alistair," She said quietly, her cheeks starting to cool, "You're my brother in the Darkspawn taint and you've become one of my dearest friends. You mean a lot to me, too, and I owe you so much more than a little trinket of braided hair."

He took her hand briefly and squeezed it as Tilly hopped over the log. Getting to his feet, he wanted badly to follow through with that kiss, but the others could see them now over the tents and the moment had been ruined… Typical Zevran. He smiled down at her, grasping her fingers a moment longer than necessary, and reaching with his free hand to knock that stubborn curl away again. She had pulled her hair band free and the curls tumbled against her neck, begging to be touched, but… Typical, _damn_, Zevran!

"It's a start," He teased, "And besides, if there was ever an occasion where the thought was what counted, it's now. Certainly it's better than a vial of blood."

"On the same plane as a rose?" She questioned and turned to the tents.

"If not a level above," He countered and was rewarded with a beaming smile and a pleasant rosy flush in her cheeks. Next time, no one was going to stand in the way of following through with a moment like that.


	58. Chapter 58

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay! But this one is much longer this time around, I hope that makes up for it. I know that the beginning of this chapter seems a little abrupt (it does to me anyway) but I personally love how it turned out. Enjoy!

* * *

The return trip to Redcliffe was more riddled with the Darkspawn than the trip out to the Forest had been and the companions were kept very busy. Daytime was bad enough, but the nights were quickly becoming sleepless. Watches were tense and everyone was jumpy with the lack of sleep, irritated and short with one another over little things. The fact that they were drawing to the end of all of this shed its novelty shortly after they left the Dalish camp. Even Oghren and Zevran lost their usual irreverence and boundless humor, and Tilly and Syd seemed the only ones who remain unaffected. Though the Mabari was sleeping more soundly with Ffion than usual after the long days and Syd's eyes and ears were on high alert now, which worked in the party's favor.

The damage was worse than ever around Lothering and the once beautiful plains were now a complete wasteland. Ffion found herself wondering if Flemeth had gotten away unscathed and whether Morrigan was at all curious about her mother's fate. The witch was unusually withdrawn lately. She was as friendly as ever with Sten, still trying to woo him, no doubt, but Zevran and Oghren's leering went ignored without her inherent iciness, and there were several occasions when she was almost pleasant towards Alistair. The kinship she had felt for Ffion was more apparent than ever and her snide comments about the Warden's previous moments of compassion and mercy were no longer repeated. Wynne and Leliana were as much the same as ever, along with Sten. Though the Enchanter's face lengthened with each destroyed village they passed and Ffion wondered how much of the 'borrowed time' she had left. Leliana had started her evening singing again and had increased her repertoire with a few of the Elvish songs, while Sten had taken to sharpening Asala practically every night and polishing his armor as though he was preparing for a procession, not a battle that may bring about the end of the world.

Alistair couldn't seem to buy time alone with Ffion and he was starting to think that Zevran and Leliana were running a joint campaign to keep him from her. Not that that stopped his thoughts. He also took to watching her during the day, missing the long hair still, but liking the shorter curls. They bobbed with her every move and danced as though they had a mind of their own. And his scrutiny was not going unnoticed. Wynne cautioned him once more about Ffion, worrying that whatever he was thinking was far out-shooting what reality actually had in store. Which was most likely true. Ffion had offered to stay behind, if they survived the Blight of course, and serve his court as an adviser, but a little voice in his head was toying with that, playing with the words, and asking why he shouldn't consider making that a more _permanent_ situation… But then his old self would forcefully take over his brain again and demand more time with his fellow Warden as a brother in the taint and friend and leave the rest to the Maker, with maybe a nudge or two…

Wynne wasn't the only one to notice Alistair's attentions. For one of a handful of times, Zevran was jealous, which hadn't happened since his first days with the Crows. He knew he had worked his way into Ffion's heart and would forever hold a place there, but she was definitely beginning to realize that her feelings for Alistair were deeper than she previously thought. And Zevran had already promised himself that he would not stand in the way of her happiness. When she was with the ex-Templar, the chasm was far from view and she was that innocent, cheerful thing he knew she must have been with her family. And Alistair himself was so obliviously happy with her that he couldn't see how hard he had fallen for his fellow Warden. He was still under the foolish assumption that it was merely the Warden link that they shared. At times, when Ffion lit up at the evening meals or even during their day's hike when Oghren said something crude or told a joke, or she was poking fun at Sten and he snarled at her, never with the poison anymore, Zevran wanted to smack Alistair upside the head and make him act on the desire written across his face… or fill the ex-Templar's spot himself.

But then, they were cresting one of the last hills that Redcliffe was nestled amongst and in full view of the lake-side village. It was mid-afternoon and the clouds that had piled up the previous night and most of the morning had finally unleashed their fury. The wind kicked up, too, and for the better part of the past three hours, the companions had traveled through drenching rain and a wind that made sure the water even seeped between their armor and into the clothes worn under it. So, naturally, instead of entering the village hailed as resplendent heroes, they looked like drowned rats. But Teagan greeted them with a broad grin and Eamon was pleased, though grim. He informed them that he had sent the notifications for the Landsmeet and garnered even more support than he had hoped and his men were prepared to leave for Denerim first thing in the morning. Ffion thought longingly of the bed that she had wanted a week's worth of and than nodded to the Arl, told her companions to be ready, and disappeared for a long hot bath while Alistair was closeted with his uncles for some last minute consults.

While all the women were taking advantage of the hot bath water, Oghren and Zevran put a dent in the supper table with Sten and the Dwarf proceeded to drink more than anyone needed to. But they never would have been able to tell in the morning. He got up well before the crack of dawn with everyone else, shrugged into his armor, and was ready to go with the rest.

It was a small troop that Eamon gathered to accompany them and Ffion had sent out missives to the Wardens' allies just before they departed the village. She had arranged for them to converge at Redcliffe and wait for the word from Denerim. Her emotions were roiling and unpredictable and she had never been more thankful for Zevran and Oghren. They were expelling their pent up excitement and energy by successfully stealing the spotlight each night they staked camp and she never thought that marching towards the bastard Howe and finally walking those last steps to her retribution would be so much fun. The extra soldiers were a huge help with the Darkspawn attacks and though the monsters were very prolific and growing bolder each day, they made a mistake attacking the party that had now grown to twenty-five. Syd had the company of a few more pack horses, but he still preferred Sten over any of them and Leliana was very popular with her music each night. They were all able to sleep a little more, Eamon himself telling them that he wanted his soldiers included in as many of the watches as were needed. Ffion was loathe to give up her usual time and so they worked around this and Alistair would have taken the chance to finish what had started in the Dalish camp, but the soldiers all seemed to have adverse sleeping schedules and he could never get her alone long enough. Add the additional hurdle of Eamon and Teagan walking with him each day to give more pointers and encourage his stepping into his father and half-brother's place. Which did _not_ improve his mood.

Though when they reached Denerim after about two weeks on the road and were greeted by a pair of incredibly hostile guards as they passed through the gates, the ex-Templar felt that they were probably on the right track there. Eamon had sent word ahead and his estate was ready for them when they arrived. Food was laid on the table and hot water was ready for baths, if they were desired. The estate was situated in a quieter part of the residential area and it was huge. It towered three workable storeys high with enough rooms for each of the companions to have their own and Ffion was settling into hers when Loghain, accompanied by his right hand Serah Cauthrien and Howe, invaded Eamon's front hall. She had just walked out to head back down the stairs when Eamon's voice traveled up to her. By sheer luck, the Arl and Alistair had just emerged from Eamon's study when the general and his entourage were admitted and Eamon was ever the gentleman.

"Loghain, this is an honor," He was saying, his voice surprised, but pleasant, "I did not expect a personal greeting from the regent."

"Why shouldn't I welcome a man who has seen fit to call all the lords and ladies from their estates while a Blight claws at the land?" The general sneered the words, his rasping voice venomous.

Ffion hesitated at the top of the stairs, not wanting to interfere, and _definitely_ not wanting Loghain to recognize her. She stepped back a little and leaned against the wall to listen to this conversation instead.

"The Blight is why I'm here," Eamon answered, oblivious or choosing to ignore the furious annoyance in Loghain's eyes, "With Cailan dead, Ferelden must have a king to lead it against the Darkspawn."

The general's hand waved dismissively.

"Ferelden has a strong leader: its queen. And I lead her armies."

"Yeah," Alistair snorted, "Straight into blackmail and massacre."

"You should curb your tongue, whelp," Loghain snapped, "This is my city and treason is not looked upon kindly."

The ex-Templar's lips parted, but Eamon shook his head and the general was quick to see it. He folded his arms over his chest and eyed the Arl skeptically.

"There was talk that your illness left you feeble, Eamon," He said with a dangerous softness to his voice, "There are some who go so far as to suggest that you are no longer fit to advise."

Eamon had folded his own arms and returned the venom with his own.

"'Illness?'" He repeated, "Why not call your poison for what it is? Not everyone in the Landsmeet is going to cast aside their loyalties as readily as some of these sycophants have. You know this, Loghain, don't pretend that you do not."

"How long you've been gone from court, Eamon," Loghain observed, refusing to rise to the bait. Ffion could hear the clink of his armor even from her perch and his next words made her heart skip several beats and she went cold from head to toe, "Don't you recognize Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine and Teyrn of Highever?"

Ffion was ready to scream. _Teyrn of Highever?! _That slimy, two-faced bastard in her family's home, living off her father and mother's lands and reaping the benefits…Never before had she wanted her blades so badly, never before had she had this pure desire to see blood pool onto a stone floor and feel her foe collapse with her blade in his throat… and it took all her willpower to keep from flying back to her room and then down the steps to do just that.

"And current Arl of Denerim," It was Howe's slimy voice and Ffion had taken another few steps towards her room before she stopped herself. She squeezed her eyes shut, tasting blood in her mouth as she bit down hard on her tongue, and put one hand to the wall to steady herself, "…Since Urien's unfortunate death at Ostagar. The regent has proved… generous to those of us who have remained loyal."

_I want his head on a platter!_ Ffion mentally screamed at Eamon, grabbing Tilly's collar as the Mabari caught scent of Howe and recognized him for what he was. _He deserves to have _his_ home ransacked, _his_ blood spattered along his own walls, _his_ family and servants cut down as they lie sleeping! I swear, you rotten, back-stabbing son of a bitch, you'll get yours if it's the last thing I do!_

She hardly registered Loghain's next words. Her blood roared in her ears and she was grasping Tilly's heavy collar so tightly that she couldn't feel her fingers.

"I had hoped to talk you down from this rash course, Eamon. Our people are frightened, our king is dead, and our land is under siege. We must be united now if Ferelden is to endure and survive this crisis. Your own sister, Queen Rowan, fought tirelessly to see this country restored. Will you besmirch her memory and work with this foolish act? You are destroying our chance in defeating this Blight with your selfish ambitions for the throne."

Eamon shook his head at the general, the lines in his face more pronounced at that unfounded accusation. Alistair was bridling, ready to swoop to his uncle's defense, but the Arl spoke first. His voice was quiet and melancholic.

"Wrong again, Loghain," He said and his eyes didn't leave the general's, "And this does you no favors. You have made your bed and now you must lie in it. I cannot forgive what you've done, perhaps the Maker will, but I cannot. Our people deserve a king from the Theirin bloodline. Alistair will be the one to lead us to victory against the Blight."

Alistair shifted uncomfortably at that, but held his tongue. He knew better than to give Loghain, or anyone else, another reason to believe he couldn't do this.

"The emperor of Orlais also thought I couldn't bring him down," Loghain's voice was strong as he stepped closer to Eamon, his blue-grey eyes challenging, "Expect no more mercy than what I showed him. There's nothing I would not do for my homeland."

Zevran was just emerging from his own room as the front doors slammed so that the whole estate seemed to shake and he frowned briefly at Ffion's poised form at the top of the stairs. She was stiffly releasing Tilly's collar and looking down at her hand as she clenched and unclenched her fingers. He started towards her, wondering why she was eavesdropping instead of jumping into the middle of whatever it was that had occurred in the front hall. His ears picked up the sound of Alistair and Eamon's voices as they came closer to the steps and Ffion instantly turned away, moving to retreat to her own room, and the Elf stopped in his tracks. The Warden's face was white, making the too bright grey eyes startling. She had set her jaw, transforming her face into the determined mask that he hadn't seen since they faced down the Broodmother and Branka. Her gaze met his and it was all the more terrible for him. She wasn't just teetering on the edge of that chasm, she was hanging by her fingertips over it. He had never seen her look so small, hopeless, and she wasn't quick enough to tuck away that emotion he recognized all too easily. She looked like he felt after discovering that Rinna had been innocent; she looked like she wanted nothing more than to die. He hurried to her as Eamon and Alistair got closer. Putting his lips close to her ear and feeling how near she was to breaking down in his arms completely, he whispered,

"Do not let Alistair see you like this, pet. Whatever the pain is, whatever you wish me to do, you know I will help you. You don't even have to ask. But, by the gods, don't let Chirpy see you fall apart; not when his well-being is so dependent upon yours."

Ffion inhaled a shaky breath and grasped Zevran's forearm, hearing Tilly whine as she pressed close. She shook her head a little and it was on the tip of her tongue to tell the Elf that it didn't matter anymore, but then Alistair's cheerful laugh reached her ears and she made a monumental effort to pull herself together. If this was how she was going to react just hearing the bastard Howe's voice, what was going to happen when she finally had to face him? She pushed that from her mind, storing it in the back with all of the other things that she never found the time to think about, and wondering briefly when that stack would topple over and spill out from her ears… But Zevran looked so worried and Alistair was almost in view and she had to compose herself.

As a way to buy more time, Zevran leaned forward again. Ffion thought fleetingly that he was going to kiss her, which would most definitely serve as a distraction, but instead he was muttering one of his crude jokes. And in spite of herself, in spite of the fact that she was exhausted by the force of her emotions, she chuckled and then shoved at his shoulder as she usually did when he reached the punchline. She felt as close to normal as she was going to get considering the circumstances when Alistair and Eamon were level with them.

The Arl gave her a quick, concerned look, but refrained from asking at Zevran's barely perceptible shake of the head. Alistair took no notice of this, studying Ffion with a rather worried frown.

"You okay, Ffion?" He asked, not liking the pinched look about her mouth and how pale she was, "You look a little under the weather."

Ffion smiled at him and Zevran was shocked that she could be so convincing when she chose to work at it.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," She was almost flippant and the Elf could see that she had at least pulled herself up from the chasm again, "I'm still trying to catch up on my sleep is all. So, Eamon, what's our next move? I know that you aren't quite ready for the Landsmeet. Is there anything I can help with?"

Eamon put away his curiousity, already figuring that Ffion had been listening from the stairs. That was the only explanation for the haunted air that slowly dispelled from her. He knew that it wasn't anything that the Elf had done and felt his heart ache for the Warden. Her desire for revenge was a borderline obsession and he could only imagine how difficult it had been for her to simply sit and listen to Howe's wrongfully acquired titles and hear his voice without taking action against him.

"At the moment, no," He replied, "We must wait for the other lords and ladies to arrive and as soon as everyone is in Denerim, we will convene. You _could_ see about persuading some of the nobles that are on the fence about Alistair's claim, but that can wait until the morning. Tonight, the cook has outdone herself, yet again, and we are going to feast like there is no tomorrow."

"Because, in all honesty, there may not be, yes?" Zevran added.

"Precisely," Eamon was brisk, earning smiles from all three of them, though it seemed an odd thing to joke about. Especially when there was so much truth to the words, "Now, Alistair, Teagan's probably waiting for us. Let's go and see what we can do for him now that the ugliness of meeting Loghain is over with."

"The taciturn general, here?" Zevran asked innocently, distracting them from Ffion, whose face had become drawn again.

"Yes, a personal welcome and warning in no uncertain terms that we will have our hands full at the Landsmeet," Eamon ushered Alistair away and left the two alone with Tilly.

Ffion immediately paced to her bedroom and Zevran followed, swinging the door partially shut. She circled the room, unable to sit still, and she kept grabbing the knives that were laying on the vanity's surface and then dropping them again like she was pissed off there was no target for them. Before he could ask, she began speaking, her voice short and rough with emotion.

"I want him, Zevran," She said and pulled viciously on a lock of hair that was tickling her cheek. Her eyes were blazing with fury and her face had gone from parchment white to bright red, and he knew that she didn't mean Alistair, "I _want_ him. That double-crossing, back-stabbing, two faced son of a bitch doesn't deserve to walk another step or breathe another breath. Damn him!"

This time, she slammed the knife down into the wood and left it, quivering, where it was.

"Perhaps you should not take out your anger on the innocent table, my dove," He said calmly and strode over to yank the dagger free. He placed it with the other and turned to meet her furious gaze, pleased that she wasn't nearing the chasm yet, "Instead, tell me what this is about. Who-"

"No," She interrupted swiftly and held up one hand, "Don't ask me, Zev, not yet. Please don't. I can't tell you right now because I would muddle everything. I'd leap out the window and go tearing down the street after the bastard and cut him down. And then… well, none of you would have me around anymore and Alistair would walk out on Eamon, if what you said about his dependence is true."

"You know that it is, pet," The Elf pushed the offending hair back from her face and then chucked her under the chin when it was clear she had calmed down enough to be rational again, "You have bided your time, let the bastard play into your hand, yes? When one is dishonest and treacherous for long enough, they fall into their own trap. He will make a mistake and you will be there to punish him thoroughly for it."

And, naturally, the Elf was right. The feast that Eamon had promised was wonderful, though it didn't last as long into the night as it would have in any other situation. All of Ffion's companions were tired from the travel and little sleep, and mixing this with eating more than they should have, they were dropping off well before midnight. Ffion had eaten what she could, but her thoughts were still on Howe and that did little for the appetite. And about a quarter-hour after she had turned in, there was a gentle knock on her bedroom door and she was still awake, thinking it over. She slipped off the soft mattress, tossing a pair of pants on to match her cotton shirt, and then padded to the door with Tilly on her heels. It was one of Eamon's clerks who looked as though he had just rolled out of bed as well and he beckoned her to follow him to the Arl's quarters. Once there, Ffion found Eamon waiting with a dark-haired Elven woman that she had never seen before. The Elf was clearly distressed while Eamon tried to sooth her worries and she veritably flew to Ffion as the Warden entered the room.

"Oh, please, Warden, you must help me!" She cried and almost reached out to take Ffion's hands in hers. Her Orlesian accent was thicker even than Leliana's and with the emotion in her voice, it was difficult to understand her, "My poor lady, she needs your help."

Ffion blinked, glancing quickly at Eamon who lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

"I haven't been able to get anything else from her," He said, "She came here solely to speak to you and hasn't told me anything."

The Warden turned back to the Elf and took her elbow, steering her into the room and closer to the little fire that was lit in the hearth. She perched on the arm of one of the couches, Tilly beside her, and met the Elf's distraught gaze.

"All right, serah" She said quietly, "Start over. Who are you, now? And who has sent you to ask for my help?"

The Elf began pacing in front of the fire, but Ffion's firm, direct questioning had the right effect on her and she was speaking more clearly now.

"My name is Erlina," She began, "I am Queen Anora's personal maid and it was she who sent me here to request your aid. She is being held captive and there is a terrible rumor that she will be… will be killed if we tarry any longer. Please, you must help!"

The last was such a pathetic plea that Ffion almost reached out to steady Erlina again and then thought better of it.

"Slow down, Erlina," She said instead and used that same firm tone as before, pleased that it was working so well, "Who is holding the queen captive and threatening her life?"

"The Arl Howe," Erlina answered and didn't register Ffion's suddenly ramrod straight back and fierce gaze, "He offered Loghain a safe place for her. There was some worry that the people were growing mutinous against her, but now she is locked in one of his rooms and forbidden to leave. And the rumor is that she will be killed and the blame laid on Arl Eamon and the Wardens. My lady has been waiting for your arrival. She fears that she can no longer trust her father and has no friends among those nobles that the general surrounded them with. She is willing to speak against her father in the Landsmeet if you help her here."

Ffion glanced at Eamon, but the Arl hadn't looked away from Erlina.

"And why haven't you gone to the other nobles with this?" He asked and his voice was hard, "Surely not all of them distrust Anora?"

The Elf was almost disdainful as she answered.

"I am an Elf, my lord, and from Orlais. The Fereldens do not take kindly to Orlesians even when one is trying to help them; my experience tells me this."

"If Anora's promised us her voice against Loghain, why not?" Ffion asked Eamon, her eyes blazing at the thought of facing Howe tonight and ending this once and for all.

Eamon could read that easily and he glanced at Erlina.

"Excuse us for a moment, Erlina," He said and then grasped Ffion's elbow and tugged her to the other side of the room. Putting both hands on her shoulders, he met her gaze severely and went on, "Are you suggesting this to help the queen and Alistair, or to fulfill your own wants and desires? Because if it's the latter, Ffion, you will be destroying Alistair's chance to win those nobles over that are on the fence about him. Are you willing to take that chance?"

Ffion's face flushed with anger and she shrugged away his hands, at least remembering to keep her voice quiet as she answered him.

"And why can't I do both?" She demanded, "You've heard the phrase, killing two birds with one stone? Here's my chance. I'll free Anora and if I run into Howe… I can't promise that he'll make it out unscathed. Besides, you said yourself, Loghain needs him for his expertise in politics and his ambition. If he's gone, the general loses that weapon and that's not a bad thing for us, you know that."

Eamon knew there was no way to talk Ffion out of this now that she had the idea in her head and so he wasn't going to try. He sighed, shrugging at her.

"Very well, Ffion," He told her wearily, feeling his age more tonight than he ever had before, "But at least promise me that you will not seek out Howe without reason. The Wardens don't need another strike against them."

Ffion clenched her jaw and didn't look away from the Arl as she reluctantly nodded her head. It was a terrible wrench, promising that, but she could see his side of this and she was loathe to hurt Alistair in his campaign to save Ferelden.

"I promise," She said steadily and then turned to Erlina, "We'll need four sets of armor so we can sneak into the ba… the Arl's estate without suspicion. And can you get one that would fit a Dwarf?"

Erlina's face was lit with relief and happiness and she nodded her dark head eagerly as she started across the room to them.

"I have the armor ready at the estate," She replied, "And there are plenty of sizes. How soon can you come?"

The Warden knew that her chosen few could be ready in the blink of an eye and she pushed a hand to Tilly's head, hating what she was going to have to do with the Mabari.

"Within moments," She finally said, "I'll just need to wake up a few of my companions and we will meet you at the estate. Is there a better entrance to use? Oh, and how soon will the watch be changing?"

"The estate is walled, but there is a man-door on the far end from the front gates. It will open to the gardens and I will ensure that it will be unguarded," Erlina was speaking quickly again, but Ffion wasn't having any trouble following her, "And the second watch will be starting in an hour's time, so we must hurry if we are to do it now. With your disguises, there should be no issues. I am a regular sight in the estate and can show you to my lady, but you will have no other friends there."

"No surprise," Ffion muttered, "All right, Erlina, go and get ready for us. We won't be far behind you."

Erlina darted forward to give Ffion's hand a quick wring of thanks and then she disappeared out the door. The Warden turned to Eamon and met his steady gaze. She knew that he didn't like this and she spoke before he could start in on her. He reminded her too much of her father with his inherent care for their well-being and this was hard enough as it was.

"I'm not taking Alistair," She said abruptly, "And please, if he wakes up, don't tell him. The less he knows of this the better. That way it can be said that I acted alone on behalf of the Wardens and his reputation will be unscathed as he goes forward with your plans."

"That's all I can hope for, I guess," The Arl replied, "Since you won't let me talk you out of this."

"Not a chance," She was smiling grimly and reached out to press his arm, "Pray for us, Eamon, I'll try to come back with everyone intact."

She left the room with Tilly on her heels and padded down the hall towards her room, stopping at Morrigan, Zevran, and Oghren's to knock on their doors and ask them to meet her, ready to head out, in ten minutes' time. As soon as she had closed her own door again, she threw on her armor and strapped her boots into place before sitting at the vanity, turning up the oil lamp, and grabbing a clean sheet of parchment. Without thinking twice, worried that she would lose her nerve and not do it, she wrote out every detail of the night of her family's massacre, where she was going, and why she had to do it this way; added her best wishes, and signed it with love from a sister in the Darkspawn taint before folding it neatly and tucking it into an envelope. She wrote Alistair's name across this and turned to the big pack that Syd normally carried for her. Unbuckling one of the smaller pockets to slip the letter into, she spotted the beautiful rose that the ex-Templar had so shyly and sweetly given her that night that seemed ages ago now. Tenderly, she pulled it out, pleased that it had kept its shape while it dried. She inhaled its scent and then put it back reluctantly, knowing that it belonged with his letter.

There was a knock on the door that startled her and Zevran opened it a second later. He was followed by Morrigan and Oghren, who was still bleary eyed from sleep and drink. Tilly's tail was wagging gently and once again, Ffion's heart twisted.

"Wha's up, boss?" The Dwarf asked.

"We have a job to do," She replied simply and took Tilly's head into her lap, "Queen Anora is being held captive by the bastard Howe and her handmaid was just here with Eamon and I. She said there's a rumor circulating the Arl's estate that Anora is going to be killed and the blame laid on Eamon and the Wardens, completely screwing our chance to come out ahead in the Landsmeet and ensuring that Ferelden doesn't recover from the Blight. I know enough about the bastard to know that this isn't just a rumor. The maid, Erlina, is waiting for us at the estate with uniforms that will let us infiltrate the place without issues. She knows were Anora is kept and we just need to sneak her out and back here. The queen's promised her voice against her father in the Landsmeet and it's worth the risk, to me anyway, to get her out of there."

"Ah, well, I must admit, it did seem like an incomplete day without the usual risk to our necks," Morrigan stretched like a cat as she spoke, but it was clear that she was all for this task of blackmail and deception.

Oghren was up for anything, as usual, and only Zevran knew there was an ulterior motive here. But he knew better than to spotlight that now.

"All right, Tilly," The Warden spoke to her dog, her lips next to her ear, "Stay here, my girl, and look after Alistair. I can't risk you tonight, I'm not going to," The Mabari understood what her lady was saying and, with a soft whine, she licked Ffion's cheek, nuzzling her head a little closer almost as though she was giving her lady a hug, "Be good, girl, and keep them all safe."

They sneaked out of the estate and through the residential area towards the Arl of Denerim's place. The streets were quiet except for the occasional rounds of the night watch and they had no trouble reaching the wall of the Arl's city home. Ffion wasn't sure of her emotions as they slipped through the man-door into the garden and met an impatient Erlina. She was eager to get this done, but it was almost like she was going through it in a dream. Her thoughts were focused on simply reaching Howe and whatever came next was in the Maker's hands. And then, in a startling moment of clarity as Erlina led them across the garden and towards the hulking shape of the estate, she realized that she wasn't expecting to walk out of here. Leaving Tilly behind, writing the letter to Alistair, and even her companion choice suddenly made sense. Morrigan and Zevran knew most of her history just from guesses and Oghren wouldn't even blink at the discovery of her heritage. And they could break it to the others in the blunt fashion that would make Ffion proud.

Erlina slipped away after hiding them in the shadows of a shed and went to distract the guards from the back entry to the estate's kitchen. They were easily persuaded to leave and the Elf motioned with her hand as she led the guards around the opposite corner of the place. Ffion didn't need to be told twice. She hurried from the shadows, missing Tilly's presence fiercely, and opened the door without a sound. The others were right behind her and they crowded into the little room, waiting for their eyes to adjust in the dim light. They were standing in a mud room and directly ahead was the expansive kitchen. The cooking fires had long ago been banked and were nothing but smouldering coals and there was only one torch in this mud room for them to see by. Erlina slid into the room behind them, shutting the door firmly.

"I did not think I would ever be rid of those two," She said softly, "But I have sent them on a nice little diversion and they will be busy for some time. Your uniforms are here."

She flipped the old discarded rugs on a nearby shelf open and pulled out cleverly hidden breastplates that bore Howe's crest in one corner. Ffion took one and though her distaste for wearing anything belonging to the bastard was strong, her desire for revenge was stronger. Hers was big enough that she could comfortably wear it over her duster leather. Zevran's was the same and Erlina handed them tassets that were full skirts to protect their upper legs. Oghren reluctantly slid out of his breastplate and into the other, which matched the rest of his armor so there was no concern there; and Morrigan's was light armor that matched Ffion's. The witch looked odd in it, never having worn it before, and she couldn't seem to figure out what to do with her gloved and gauntleted hands. In any other situation, Ffion would have found this incredibly amusing, but she really couldn't give it a thought now.

"I have a boy that can return that to the Guerrin estate, if you wish?" Erlina offered to Oghren who was setting his breastplate aside.

"Tha's fine, my thanks," The Dwarf sensed how off Ffion was and actually allowed it to have an effect on him.

When they were ready to depart, Erlina led them through the estate and the armor did its work. None of the handful of guards that were up and about gave them trouble, though Ffion jumped each time they heard the echo of steps coming towards them. She just wasn't sure she would be able to restrain herself if they came face to face with Howe. Erlina was finally quickening her steps as they headed down a long hallway and just before they would have entered the next room, she turned to the right and they ended up in an odd alcove with a door directly ahead. Ffion started for it, but was checked by Morrigan.

"No, hold," She said quietly, "There is a seal over it. 'Tis such that if it is touched, an alarm will be raised."

"Naturally," Zevran said.

He was standing closer to the hallway with Oghren to keep watch and Erlina stepped to the door.

"My lady?" She called softly, "I have brought the Grey Warden."

"Thank the Maker!" Anora must have been waiting right by the door and though her voice was muffled they could hear her just fine, "I'm sorry about this, Warden. I would be greeting you properly, but as you can see, we've had a setback. My _host_ was not content to keep me under heavy guard and had the door locked by magic."

Ffion reached up to tug at a curl, her grey eyes on Erlina.

"Why didn't you mention this before?" She asked.

Erlina's brown eyes were unhappy.

"I was not sure you would come," She replied, "And we _must_ get her out!"

"Don't panic, Erlina," Anora's voice commanded firmly, stopping the Elf before she could bring the whole estate down on their heads, "There is no key that will open this. To break the spell, you need the mage that cast it. He will be somewhere with Howe."

Ffion's eyes lit with a dangerous light. She never would have imagined it would be this straightforward. She stepped a little closer to the door and ignored the way that Zevran's eyes bored into her.

"All right," She answered, "Do you know where he would be if he is not sleeping?"

Anora gave an unladylike snort, but she was beyond caring.

"Howe is a bastard," Her tone was dry and she uttered the curse without a trace of reluctance, "He has taken to spending his evenings in his dungeon. They are at the other end of the estate."

Ffion turned on her heel, her brain a thousand miles away from Anora's problems.

"Good, we'll be back."

"Thank you, Warden, my prayers are with you," Anora's voice was relief itself.


	59. Chapter 59

**A/N:** All right, next installment. Sorry about the delay and I hope you enjoy this one without finding it a little far-fetched. It was impossible to get this idea from my head so here we are! Anyway, hope all is well and take care!

* * *

None of them realized that Erlina was not leading them this time; that she wasn't even joining them, and Ffion walked mechanically through the halls. She ignored the other soldiers, her thoughts fixed on reaching the dungeons and finding Howe. Anora's rescue meant nothing to her, she was here for Howe's blood and nothing more. They had made their way through a little collection of rooms and the few open doors led them to believe that they had reached the sleeping quarters. Ffion wandered down a short hall and found an intricately carved door at the end. With a brief glance at the others, she tried the handle and found it unlocked. They slowly crept further into the room and Zevran closed the door again without a sound. Their luck held and the room they entered had to be Howe's personal quarters. It was empty and across from them, in the wall the bed was pushed against, another door hung partially open. Ffion crossed to this and nudged it further to reveal a flight of stone steps that led down.

"Ya know wha' tha' says 'bout this one?" Oghren grinned wickedly as Zevran inspected an ornate chest beside the bed and prepared to pick the lock, "Tha' means he needs a li'le extra 'elp in-"

"We understand," Morrigan's cool voice interrupted as Ffion was distracted from their task by the papers Zevran had pulled from the opened chest, "There is no need for details."

"The Wardens' documentation?" Ffion said, crouching beside the Elf and recognizing the Wardens' griffon emblem, "Looks like the bastard wasn't as set against them as the Coward General. Maybe he's looking for a way out in case things go south."

Zevran folded the papers briskly and handed them to his Warden. When her hand closed around them, he tightened his grip, making her glance up at him. His amber eyes were serious and his voice quiet.

"It is only fair to tell us who you are doing this for, Ffion," He told her as Morrigan and Oghren watched closely, "Is this your own personal vendetta, or are you doing this to rescue the queen? We need to know."

Ffion felt a little stab of annoyance and she tugged the papers from him. His gaze was steady and she knew that she would have to say something, he wouldn't make another move without her answer. Shrugging, she finally gave him the answer that she had given Eamon.

"Can we just say that I'm killing two birds with one stone?"

The Elf studied her face, seeing the chasm, and knowing there was nothing he could do to stop her plunge this time. An all too familiar knife went into his heart and gave an awful wrench. He saw in her the same flash that he had seen earlier that day and it made him want to take her in his arms and hold her; just hold her in that room and refuse to let her go down to face her very likely death. But she took his silence as an affirmative answer and got to her feet. Morrigan and Oghren accepted her explanation without trouble and they started after her as she led the way down the stairs.

They found themselves in a small dungeon that extended straight ahead to another flight of steps. There were two cells here, both located in the corner, and the guard that partially dozed in front of one was just as surprised to see them as they were to see him. Ffion had just registered the tug of the taint and then an arm snaked through the bars of the cell behind the guard and grasped the man firmly. It only took a moment for the hidden prisoner to snap his neck and grab the keys at his belt, and before the party could move forward, the cell door was unlocked and shoved open. A tall, broad shouldered man who looked to be middle aged stepped from the cell and Ffion felt the taint swirl strongly. His startling pale grey eyes studied them and his dark brown, slightly reddish hair hung lankly about his neck. He crouched to strip the dead guard of his armor and when he spoke, it was an Orlesian voice hoarse with disuse.

"My thanks, sister, you can never know what music a key turning in a lock makes until you have been imprisoned for weeks on end."

"I can imagine," Ffion replied, getting over her surprise and watching as he fastened the armor in place over his grubby, stained clothing, "My name is Ffion and these are Zevran, Morrigan, and Oghren."

The armor was loose on his rather malnourished frame, but he looked much more put together as soon as he was finished. He straightened again and approached them and they could see the effects of hunger and torture in his wan face. His cheekbones pushed against his skin and his stubble was thick about his chin and neck.

"I am Riordan, senior Warden of Jader," He said, "That part you've already sensed. You… you must be part of Duncan's ranks that were sent to Ostagar. Praise the Maker that some of you survived that massacre."

"And I'm glad to see yet another Warden," Ffion answered with a smile that even felt grim, "Alistair and I were afraid we were the only two left in Ferelden."

"Then Alistair is alive, too," Riordan's smile did wonders for his face, "That is even better news. Ferelden needs him."

Ffion cocked her head, Howe moving from the forefront of her thoughts just slightly as her curiousity for this new Warden took over.

"You know Alistair?" She asked, "The Wardens' world is smaller than I thought."

"And most unpredictable," Morrigan muttered impatiently.

"Indeed it is," Riordan gave the witch a curious look, but finished answering Ffion, "I was present at Alistair's Joining and Duncan was an old dear friend of mine. His lose is felt deeply by many people."

"We are losing time, dove," Zevran reminded Ffion in a whisper, his ears picking up on sounds from the second staircase.

She shook herself and then dug in her pack for those papers that the Elf had discovered.

"He's right," She told Riordan, "We have to keep moving. These papers have the Wardens' griffon emblazoned on them and they should not be in that bastard's hands. Speaking of which, have you seen him tonight?"

Riordan studied the papers and relief flickered over his face. He gave her a nod and waved to the stairs.

"He passed by here not an hour ago," He met her gaze, "And thank you for recovering these. We will need them if we are to rebuild the Wardens, but that is a conversation for another time."

Ffion watched as he bent to take the guard's helm and then offered,

"We are staying at the Guerrin estate, if you need a safe place to rest. The Arl would be more than happy to take you in."

"I am pleased to hear he is well. Ferelden needs men like him, now more than ever," Riordan gave Ffion and her companions a wincing bow and then settled the helm on his head, "Maker guide you, sister, and we will speak at the Arl's estate when you return."

He walked gingerly up the stairs and Ffion felt the taint swirl again before settling. She nodded her head at the others and they plunged down into the lower levels of the dungeons. There were five guards scattered about the hallway that they entered and they were able to take a few steps into this before one of the men took a closer look at them.

"Oi," He said and approached with a frown, "The shif' change ain't fer 'nother half-'our. What're you sods doin' 'ere?"

Ffion stepped forward boldly and spoke before Oghren could pull his axe loose and start hacking away.

"The jailer wanted us," She almost crossed her fingers and she could feel the tingling of magic in the air as Morrigan prepared for the worst, "Something about dumping some bodies."

The guard stared at her and his brows arched a little.

"'The jailer,'" He repeated and his fellows were closing in, "The jailer jus' pass'd through wi' a new one fer the rack. _We_ a'ready got rid o' the bodies."

Morrigan moved before anyone else could. Her staff slammed into the floor and a silent explosion of energy sent the guards scattering in all directions. Three fell to the floor and didn't move. Oghren knocked another unconscious and Ffion's knife took out the fifth just as he opened his mouth to call the alarm. Zevran had already crept to the end of the hallway and checked to make sure the coast was clear and he returned as Morrigan bound the four, still living men with magic. There was a small storage room that was off of this hallway and Ffion motioned to the bodies after the door was opened.

"We'll hide them in here," She said in an undertone, "The longer we can hold off the alarm, the better."

They lugged the men inside and Morrigan gagged them in addition to the invisible bonds. Ffion threw an old rug over the dead man as soon as he was added to the mix and then used a corner of it to clean her knife. They quietly closed the door again and continued down the hall. It was broad and well lit and led straight before twisting to the left and revealing another door. Ffion crept close enough to listen at it while the others kept watch, but only heard the quiet sounds of Mabari whining and growling. They bypassed this and pressed down the hallway to find yet another door. Ffion repeated her tactics and this time heard more guards that were shifting in their sleep with a few random snores. The hallway had made another turn to the left and this was clear too, but Morrigan leaned close so she could whisper in the Warden's ear.

"I have taken care of the doors, Ffion," She said and there was a little surge of power that dissipated as quickly as it was felt, "One could scream bloody murder and not be heard behind those doors."

Ffion gave her a nod, thinking what a perfect example that was, and then froze when a man's groan of pain reached their ears. A sick laugh followed and Ffion had no need to tell her companions to prepare themselves. They each had their weapons grasped tightly and they approached the next doorway with care. The Warden slowly peeked around and into the room when a gruff voice spoke.

"Nothin' like a new one, eh, boys?"

The sight that greeted the Warden chilled her to the bone and she felt her anger spike sharply. A group of eight men surrounded a rack where another young man, stripped to his smallclothes, was stretched. Clearly the man at the lever was the one who spoke and he grinned nastily as he pushed the lever and the young man's groan elevated to a scream. Morrigan had just enough time to seal the other door further down the hall before Ffion tossed her knife and it found its way into the tormentor's eye. He dropped and the others whirled. Morrigan hurled boulders at three that pulled their bows loose and Oghren was a blur of grey armor and flashing axe blade. Zevran melted away and appeared behind the men, his swords gleaming in the light, and Ffion held her own as two of them came at her. The fight was intense and seemed terribly loud, but Morrigan's spell held and it was the witch who took out the last of the guards with a repeat of that blast of energy. None of the men had even considered surrender and Ffion was quick to dash to the young man's aid when he called for help. She cut the thick leather ties that held him while Zevran prowled the room and Oghren stood close by, partially turned to the door in case anyone else investigated.

"What the hell was this?" The young man demanded as Ffion helped him up. His blond hair was tousled and his brown eyes fierce, "Some joke of my father's that got out of hand?"

"What are you talking about?" Ffion replied, mirroring the inherent arrogance that she recognized in a fellow noble's voice, "You think Howe captured you because your father thought it would be funny?"

The man's eyes widened and he sank back down onto the rack just as soon as he stood up.

"Y-You mean to tell me that this was… this was meant to… kill me?"

"Perhaps he does deserve the rack," Morrigan leaned on her staff next to Ffion, her voice disdainful.

"I think that Howe was threatening your life so your father would give Loghain his vote in the Landsmeet," Ffion answered him, positive that Howe would do all of that and more, without even a flash of conscience.

"Bastard!" The man said fiercely.

"Welcome to the club," Ffion's voice was dry and she was about to go on when Zevran interrupted.

"My dove, there is another man here who needs our help."

The Warden turned and took in the rest of the room for the first time. It was oddly shaped, as though two rooms had been rolled into one as an afterthought and Zevran was further into the next room. There were big slabs of foot long spikes on the floor and hanging from the walls; chains suspended from the ceiling, and along a wall close to the door were devices and instruments that stimulated the imagination in a very unpleasant way. The floor was stained with blood and beyond the rack, lying in a heap where he had been tossed, was another young man with a shock of dark red hair. Ffion had just taken a step towards the Elf when he gently turned the man over and she saw his face. Her heart stopped and she felt the blood drain from her face. She swayed on the spot and barely heard Morrigan's alarmed voice as the witch said her name and took her arm. She could hear her blood rushing in her ears again and, with a cry, she flew over the stone floor, dropping to her knees beside Zevran, and touching Roderick Gilmore's temple with trembling fingers. Her voice was gone and she could feel tears stinging her eyes as she looked him over. The months since she had last seen him had taken their toll, as had Howe's soldiers. He was thin and gaunt, in worse shape than Riordan, and there were old scars interlaced with new injuries up and down his body. Like the young nobleman, he had been stripped to his smallclothes and up his arms, along his shoulders, were what looked like burns. The skin of his wrists and ankles was worn and raw from the leather straps and his nose had clearly been broken, marring his handsome face. One eye was swollen and badly bruised and his breathing was very shallow. Ffion shook from head to toe with rage and grief and she gently pushed his red hair back, forgetting about the others. Her heart skipped again as his eyelids flickered and she almost cried when his green eyes met hers in confusion.

"Rick," She said softly, lowering her head to his, "You're okay now, it's all over."

"'M I dead?" His voice was a broken whisper and he still didn't seem to recognize her.

"No," She said fiercely, pressing her hand to his cheek, "No, Rick, you'll be safe now. I'm getting you out of here."

Gilmore's hand came up quite suddenly as his green eyes flooded with tears of relief and joy and he fumbled to keep her palm pressed against his face. He still had some strength left and he squeezed her hard as he finally realized who she was.

"Fifee," He muttered and even managed a little smile, "Ne'er though' I'd see-"

He broke off with a cough that was thick in his lungs and Ffion's heart wrenched at the blood that stained his lips. She pressed her fingers against his mouth, shaking her head.

"Don't try to talk. Save your strength," She told him gently, "We need to get you out of here."

"Ffion-"

"Ser," She addressed the young noble who stood uncertainly in the background and ignored the incredulous note in Morrigan's voice, "Strip a couple of those guards and bring their armor here, please."

Oghren was quick to catch on to her plan and he stepped forward to help as well. Together, they stripped two of the guards that Morrigan had taken out since the armor was clean of blood.

"I thin' the boss wants ya to put tha' stuff on, kid," Oghren said as he carried the other set to Ffion.

"Oh," The noble glanced at the armor and it took a moment for him to get where Ffion and the Dwarf were going with this, "That's not a bad idea."

"You must wait until you are in the fresh air before you pat us or yourself on the back," Zevran advised, watching with an aching heart as Ffion touched Gilmore's cheek again.

"Can you sit up, Rick?" She asked, taking hold of his hand.

It clearly cost him dear and Zevran and Oghren both crouched to help. Even Morrigan sacrificed one of her potions for him and it improved his color and gave him the strength to slip into the thick leather armor. As soon as he was rather unsteadily on his feet, Gilmore stepped forward and enveloped Ffion in a tight hug, ignoring the pain that had been his everyday life for months. He pressed his cheek to her chocolate curls and crushed her to his chest, not wanting to let her go again. It was a dream come true to see her and his will to live was suddenly revived.

"I can't waste anymore time, Rick," Her voice was muffled against his chest and she allowed him to lean on her as he pulled away, "Ser-"

"My name's Oswyn," The noble said with a little smile, "Son of the Bann Sighard, and I owe you my life."

"Oswyn, then, the watch will be ending soon and you'll want to get out of here before then. And you would be doing me a huge favor if you could take Rick to Arl Eamon's estate," She glanced worriedly up at her friend as he coughed again and swayed, clutching at her, "Can you make it that far?"

Gilmore nodded his head, waiting for the coughing fit to end. He reached out and tugged her shortened ponytail and his voice was weaker when he answered her.

"That'll take some gettin' used to," He said, "And I'll be fine. But why aren't you comin'?"

She hesitated and motioned for Oswyn to step forward and take Gilmore's weight.

"I have something I need to finish," She replied carefully, "Eamon should still be up when you get there and he'll explain everything."

"Fi," Gilmore could clearly see her ulterior motives here, but once again the cough interrupted his words.

Ffion brushed his temple again, happy beyond belief to hear that nickname, and gave him a sad smile.

"Trust me, Rick, I'll be okay. Thanks, Oswyn."


	60. Chapter 60

**A/N: **All right, on time this week. Yah! - Right? Anyway things get a little heavy in this chapter. As a forewarning because FanFiction's rules seemed rather vague to me: there is a _**slight** _suggestion of rape and Ffion definitely does _not_ come out smelling like a rose at the end of this chapter. Just FYI and I hope you all enjoy. Take care and all the best!

* * *

She watched them turn the corner, Gilmore attempting and successfully managing a few steps on his own, and then she turned to her companions, her fury hotter than ever. She wanted Howe's blood and nothing was going to stand in her way. The knowledge that the bastard had kept her best friend alive all this time simply to torture him was the fuel that she needed and when they passed an open doorway and surprised the three guards lounging inside, she was the most dangerous of her companions. Her swords were blurs and the men didn't stand a chance. Further into this room, there was a short hallway with three cells, all of them occupied. The first was a man that crouched in one corner of the cell, muttering to himself and entirely unaware of them. Ffion's heart, hot with rage and hardening even more by the atrocities she had seen and was seeing, turned to Zevran to ask for a lockpick, but the Elf stepped forward and rattled the keys he had lifted from the jailer. They didn't attempt to speak to the man, just left his door unlocked and moved to the next. In this was a young Elf with dark reddish-brown hair and he blinked up at them in surprise.

"You…" He started uncertainly, "You don't look like any of the Arl's soldiers."

"We aren't," Zevran unlocked his cell, too.

The Elf looked at them, wide-eyed.

"If ya wanna get outta 'ere, now's yer chance," Oghren told him gruffly, "There's armor ya can use in the room down th' hall."

"Th-thank you," The Elf stuttered and then bolted from the room as though afraid this was some elaborate joke.

In the last cell was another nobleman that almost dissuaded them from freeing him with his arrogance, but Ffion was out to screw Howe and this was a good way to do it. She let him free, too, and earned another voice against Loghain in the process. And a very strong one, considering that this man was the son of the former Arl of Denerim and rightful owner of the estate he was prisoner of. They pressed on down the hallway once more, bypassing another storage room, and were still in the clear as far as the guards were concerned. The hall turned back to the left and there were two doors here, straight across from one another. Ffion had no need to listen at these: Howe's voice, along with another, gruffer one carried through the door and made the Warden stiffen. Her grey eyes blazing and all rationalization fleeing her head, she drew her swords and marched to the door, throwing it open without ceremony. She did so so harshly it bounced off the wall and she saw with grim pleasure that she startled the occupants of the room. Howe was accompanied by three guards and two mages and he glared at them for a moment before realizing they were not his men. Morrigan sealed the opposite door as the Arl's eyes fixed on Ffion and recognition flickered in them. For a split-second, trepidation was clear there and then he straightened himself, arrogance rushing back; and he held one hand up to his men before folding his arms over his chest.

"Well, well, if it isn't Bryce Cousland's little spitfire," He sneered, his voice cold and hate-filled, "All grown up and still playing the boy."

"And if it isn't the bastard Howe, butcher of Highever," Ffion's own voice was ice and her grey eyes had become pure steel, "You can take his title, his lands and estate, even his life, but my father you are not and never will be."

Anger spasmed across Howe's face and he loosed his arms, balling his hands into fists.

"Your father died in disgrace, cursing your name for deserting the family, and your mother was sport for my men before kissing my feet and begging for death. Your brother's corpse is rotting in Ostagar and his brat was burned on the rubbish heap along with that Antivan whore he called a wife," The Arl's face was triumphant as Ffion lost her color and her eyes became shadowed and haunted. Zevran saw the chasm looming and his hands tightened on his blades, waiting for his chance at this bastard while Oghren gave an almost Tilly-like growl and Morrigan's power became tangible around them, "The Couslands have been wiped out and forgotten. All that remains of your pathetic family is a husk of a daughter who will end her life under a rock in the Deep Roads, spitting out more Darkspawn. If she's lucky enough to live that long."

Ffion's breath was shallow and she grabbed hold of her rage to keep the overwhelming grief at bay. She turned her thoughts to the sight of her blades sinking into Howe's throat, what elation that would bring, and then met his gaze squarely. The fire burning in her was hotter than before and she settled into a fighter's stance, her anger deeper than her companions had ever seen, making her look like some sort of vengeful deity.

"Clearly you haven't forgotten them, Howe," She spat and her voice held a calm that was frightening, "They haunt you in your dreams and, if you live through this, they always will. My father was the best thing that ever happened to you and you let your jealousy rule and ruin that, too. I'm here to make sure a _Cousland_ is the last thing you'll see in _your_ pathetic life."

She struck a nerve and Howe's eyes flashed brilliantly. He set his jaw and glared at the Warden, murder in his gaze.

"And there it is," He said and his venom matched hers, "That damn glint in the eye that preceded every Cousland victory over me and mine. Your father might actually be proud, girl, you've made something of your life after all and me… Well, I just want you dead more than ever."

In the blink of an eye, Howe leaped at Ffion, his weapons in hand and the Warden was just as quick. She ducked around him, staggering one of the two mages with a knife before he could shield himself. She didn't have time to follow through, though. Howe attacked her forcefully and Morrigan took over with the mages as Oghren and Zevran busied themselves with the guards. The Arl was far more experienced than Ffion, of course, but she could dart about much more nimbly and her rage worked in her favor. She was determined to take him down and she didn't care if that meant her own death as well. Which merely made her more unpredictable than ever.

Morrigan morphed into that enormous spider and swarmed the remaining mage and Oghren had taken out one of the guards when Howe got lucky with his little axe. It found its way through Ffion's armor, into her shoulder, and she stumbled back with a cry. She held her own for a time, but the blood was seeping down her arm and making her grip on the sword precarious. Howe pushed her steadily back to the wall and when he felt her weakness, he foolishly began to provoke her.

"Are you going to die like the rest, girl?" He demanded and she was grimly pleased that he was a little breathless, "Cursing your family and begging for death? Or moaning like that whore?"

Ffion felt something snap within her and she forgot the pain and attacked with a renewed vigor, ducking away and turning the tables on him. Howe, expecting an easy victory, was entirely unprepared for this and had no choice but to go purely on the defensive. The others were still busy with the guards that were much harder to kill than they expected and when Zevran let out a cry of pain, it distracted the Warden enough for Howe to hope again. He lunged at her and she reacted purely on instinct, parrying his blow and shoving her red steel blade up. The Arl grunted, his blue eyes meeting hers, wide with pain and shock. Ffion was just as surprised and she let go of the blade before she thought about it. Howe fell to his knees and then dropped back to his elbows, his gaze still murderous.

"Maker… spit on you," He rasped and spit at her himself, "I… deserved… more…"

He tried to say more, but his breath was gone and, with a last shudder, he fell back and went still. Ffion stared at him for a split-second longer, never hearing the complete silence that had fallen behind her, and then she leaned forward and studied the Arl's slack face. She was still losing blood and she felt everything crash down on her; she saw Oren and Oriana's bodies, her parents' last moments, Duncan's death, Isolde's helplessness with Conner and Eamon; the Circle's plight, Niall, the Broodmother and that poor Dwarf, Zathrian and the Lady, Gilmore… And she lost it.

"No!" She cried and was beside herself as slammed her fists down on Howe's chest, punctuating each hit with her words, "No, you bastard! Why!? You selfish, sick son of a bitch! Why!?"

Zevran was the first by her side. He dropped to his knees and risked any damage that might be done to his face by reaching out and snatching at her arms. She instantly turned on him and he was quick to grab her wrists.

"Stop this, Ffion," He said firmly, "You-"

"No!" She exclaimed and twisted her hands, trying in vain to get free, "He has to pay! He-"

"And he has," Zevran didn't have to raise his voice to interrupt her and she went still, meeting his gaze. He saw with a sinking heart that she had finally fallen into that chasm and there was nothing he could do to help her climb out; she would have to do that herself. But at least she looked at him steadily with eyes that were too bright and breathing that was shallow and rapid, "He has paid, love, it is over," He slowly let go of her wrists and reached out to brush the loose curls from her face, "You are done. Think of Chirpy and your man, Rick, they both need you. And the rest of us would be lost without you. This is done, Ffion, and the queen is waiting."

The Warden looked at him for a moment longer and then let out a sigh that deflated her. She pulled away from him, yanked the sword from Howe's body without a flash of emotion, and wiped his blood on what was visible of his pants. Morrigan and Oghren had both wisely separated themselves from this episode and had wandered further into the room. They returned now and even Morrigan looked at Ffion with something like pity. She stepped forward and extended one hand. Without thinking, the Warden held out her own and a ring dropped into her palm. She frowned down at it and then looked up at the witch.

"Is this supposed to mean something to me?" She asked and her voice was dead.

"There is another man in the back by the name of Irminric; a Templar that is suffering from prolonged lyrium exposure," The witch's tone was cool and calm as always, "He has no wish to sneak out with us and instead asked if we could give that ring to his sister, Alfstanna, the Bann of Waking Sea. She is part of the influx of nobles here for the Landsmeet and since I am sure you would have agreed to help, I did so on your behalf."

"Right," Ffion said with a faint smile and she heard her exhaustion, "Of course, thanks, Morrigan. Now let's go and get Anora out of here."

They sneaked back through the halls, Ffion refusing to look down at Howe again as they left the room, but purposefully treading across his fingers. There was no interference and they were able to make it back to Anora's room without issues. The Warden also kept an eye out for Gilmore or Oswyn, but there was no sign of them either and she held out hope that they had gotten away safely. The magic seal on the door was gone and when Ffion knocked and whispered that it was them, Erlina tugged it open. Anora was standing just behind her, decked out in Howe's armor like the rest of them, and she seemed just as self-conscious as Morrigan was at the beginning of this.

"My thanks, Warden," She said to Ffion and then added in somewhat of a rush because she felt she had to, "You were the only one I could trust. And this very… uncomfortable armor is my only chance to get to Eamon. If Howe's men find me, I will be killed; and if those few loyal to me discover me, they will escort me back to the palace and my father… Who, I'm afraid, will also have me killed. So I will follow your lead, Warden."

Ffion was on the verge of shrugging her shoulders and then rethought that. Instead, she turned and left the little alcove, finishing this with Anora because she owed Alistair that much. She was beyond caring after that. She didn't want to go back to the estate and Eamon, where more questions would be bantered about and decisions would have to be made; she didn't want to worry about the Blight anymore, she didn't have the strength for it. Besides, she had done her part. She had worn herself ragged, tearing throughout the countryside, garnering support, fulfilling treaties and agreements, making those damn deals… and she was done. That revelation of actually _wanting_ to die here was stronger now and she hated the fact that she was walking out with nothing more serious than a blow from an axe. Which was still as numb as her heart, though she could feel the blood slowly trickling down her arm. And then they passed by the front hall that held the main doors of the estate and none of that was going to matter anymore.

"Warden," A stern voice called and, as a reflex, Ffion stopped and turned to it. Instantly, her companions were pulling loose their various weapons and jostling Anora and Erlina behind them. Lined in front of the gates and forming a human wall was about a dozen soldiers and standing at the forefront was the tall, dark-haired warrior that had spoken. Her eyes were hard as she studied the party, "If you turn and run, things will only be worse."

Ffion held up a hand to those behind her and motioned for them to lower their weapons.

"Put them away," She commanded quietly and didn't look away from the woman. Her heart wasn't listening to her brain, which was shouting furiously that what she was thinking of doing was a death-wish. She knew what she wanted, "Serah Cauthrien, I'm guessing? I know why you're here and let me just offer one thing. I'm the one that killed Howe. My companions helped me sneak in here, but I dealt the killing blow. If I surrender to you, here and now, will you promise that they walk free? This was a Warden call and I am the only Warden present."

This surprised Cauthrien and it took her a moment to find her voice again.

"Ffion?" Zevran was alarmed, but if he was being honest with himself, he shouldn't have expected anything else, "Pet, what are you thinking?"

"She's not," Oghren growled and hadn't put his axe away, "C'mon, boss, af'er what we jus' did, wha's a few more?"

"No," She said firmly, "I'm not going to give Loghain or anyone else a reason to spread lies about us. Cauthrien doesn't know the whole tale and I won't have it start out with any falsehoods."

"Loghain only wants the Wardens," Cauthrien cut in, still puzzled by this woman's actions, "The others are free to leave. You have my… very surprised thanks, Warden; it is better this way for everyone."

Ffion shrugged her shoulders and handed Morrigan Irminric's ring again.

"I live to serve," She replied dryly and then added to her companions, "Look after Rick for me and make sure that the Templar's sister gets that ring."

For a moment, she was afraid that they weren't going to stand down peacefully, but Cauthrien's men were closing in and taking her swords and knives from her. Loghain's right-hand stood at attention before her and said importantly,

"Warden, you are charged with the murder of Arl Rendon Howe and will be imprisoned at Fort Drakon until your judgement and sentence are handed down to you."

Ffion was led away from her companions thinking that maybe she _had_ acted a little too recklessly.

* * *

Zevran, Morrigan, and Oghren took over the trek back to Eamon's estate and found that the Arl was still awake, despite it being the middle of the night. Riordan was there, looking much more at peace, and Alistair was also with them. Zevran wished that he wasn't; it would be so much easier to plan when there were fewer emotions involved. Before the Elf could break the news gently, Anora stepped forward and took charge.

"Eamon, we have a problem," She said, forgoing a greeting and getting right to the point, "The Grey Warden has been arrested and taken to Fort Drakon."

Alistair was on his feet in a flash, his honey colored eyes wide with alarm. Tilly, who had been perched next to his chair, fed off the ex-Templar's reaction. She stood at attention beside him, whining and snarling.

"_What!?_" He exclaimed, "What the hell did you get her into?"

"Howe is dead," Morrigan's calm voice seemed to center everyone and her gold eyes were on Eamon, "'Twas the only way to free the queen and Ffion has rightfully acknowledged her major role in this. And now we must decide how and when to free _her_, yes?"

"Tonight," Alistair said promptly and Eamon's hand on his shoulder was the only thing that stopped him from flying the room, "Now."

"Wait, Alistair," His uncle commanded, "We must think about this."

Zevran's amber eyes watched the thoughts scrolling across the Arl's face and he was the next to offer an idea.

"We were quite easily able to infiltrate the estate," He said and his calm matched Morrigan's, never once giving away his internal struggle, "Would it be much more difficult to lie and deceive our way into the fort to rescue our fearless leader? If that Oswyn and the dove's young man, Rick, made it back, that means the enemy armor count is five. Six, including Riordan's. Which is a help, yes?"

Alistair didn't like the way Zevran called the redhead 'Ffion's', but now was not the time or the place for that jealous streak to raise its ugly head.

"Yeah, they made it," He answered and then frowned, "But Oswyn was carrying Rick by the time they showed up. I guess he collapsed about halfway here from Howe's estate and Wynne's with him now. We haven't heard any new reports on him."

Zevran's heart grew heavier. Were they really going to lose both Ffion and her young man? Were the gods not sated with the Arl's death? His mind shook those thoughts away and he reprimanded himself. The last time his thoughts turned this direction, he had ended up jumping at the opportunity to take on the Wardens because, like that horrible gleam he had seen in Ffion's eyes, he had wanted to die… But he couldn't believe that of his dove, he _wouldn't_.

"Well then, his well-being may be as dependent on Ffion's as hers is on his, yes?" He said pleased that his tone was still steady and in charge of this situation, "So let us decide who will be walking into the lions' den."

* * *

Ffion, stripped of her armor and feeling incredibly naked in spite of her light clothing, leaned against the wall of her cell, ignoring the man imprisoned beside her, and lost in her thoughts. Her personal belongings were crammed unceremoniously into a chest beside the door that led to the main portion of Fort Drakon and she was trying to work up the energy to develop a plan of escape, but it was useless. The lethargy that settled over her after Howe had collapsed at her feet prevented her brain from working and she was still caught up in that very macabre desire to die. She wanted to see her parents again, she missed Oren and Oriana, and no matter how often that medallion failed to show her Fergus, she was beginning to believe Howe's words about him rotting in Ostagar. Gilmore's return had been a moment of pure elation, but the same voice that repeated Fergus was most likely dead kept reminding her of the blood that had spattered his lips with each cough and told her that that was not a good sign.

Her eyes smarted with tears and she leaned her head against the rough wall, closing them, and praying that the Maker would just end it so she wouldn't have to hurt from the inside out anymore. Her revenge was spent and there was nothing more to live for. Alistair was put on the back burner of her brain because thoughts of him sent little stabs of pain through her, on top of being too complicated to consider; Zevran would get over whatever happened to her because he had that strength, and the others would get by.

She must have dozed off, for the next thing she knew, five men had entered her cell and one was stepping forward, clapping a hand over her mouth and yanking her to her feet. She was shocked for a moment and then she fought back, kicking at his shins and trying to scream, which really wouldn't have made a difference. She had been hearing screams since she was first brought in here and she was sure that her own wouldn't raise any sort of alarm. The men dragged her from her cell and down a hallway, into a much smaller room meant for armor storage. One of the men closed the door and turned the key in the lock while the one holding her forced her onto a low table. Another grabbed her shoulders and pinned her upper body down and a fourth grabbed her ankles. Their intent came to her with horrifying clarity and when the one that had carried her let go of her mouth and reached for her, she screamed with all her might and fought more fiercely than they expected. She wrenched her legs free, kicking one of the guards in the crotch which dropped him instantly and then kneeing another. She had knocked them off balance enough that she was able to sit up, throwing punches. One of them very likely had his nose broken and she whirled about for the other when she herself was slapped hard across the face and shoved back down onto the table; on her side this time, which made escape a bit more difficult. Hands pushed down on her ankles, hip, and shoulder, and she struggled to get away. The cold tip of a knife suddenly pressed against the pulse throbbing in her neck and she went entirely still.

"That's righ'," A rough voice said in her ear, "Nice an' easy. I was gonna let me boys 'ave some fun with ya. We were wonderin' if you War'en whores feel differen' than any other woman, but we're runnin' outta time an' now I'm thinkin' we'll move right ta roun' two."

Ffion's tongue ruled, never mind that he held the knife and she was helpless.

"Aw, what happened?" She asked bitingly, hearing the breathless quality in her voice from the fright and the struggle, and pleased with the groans of pain from the two she had kicked, "Lose what little nerve you have? Or maybe you just can't get it up."

A heavy silence fell and then the man grabbed her hair, yanking her head back, and pressing more of the knife's length against her vulnerable skin.

"If ya knew wha' was in store for ya, you wouldn' be so bold," He hissed and then turned his attention to one of his comrades, "Ge' it ready."

Ffion took the chance while she had it and fought back again. She lashed out with her legs as the one holding her ankles swapped with another and she ducked away from the knife, almost to her feet. She was just getting ready to dive at their leader when one of them grabbed her shoulders and threw her back down. The leader pressed close, one hand easily grasping both of her wrists and pinning them roughly to the wood table. His knife was juggled briefly in his free hand and Ffion could feel small nicks and cuts as they struggled. She made him drop it as he tried to get her under control and she was more herself than ever when she heard it clatter to the floor.

"Let me… go!" She shouted, trying her damnedest to get away, "You bastards…! Get… off of… me!"

"Not a chance, War'en whore," The man replied, his voice short as he fought with her, "You're gonna learn… wha' was Arl Howe's… always Arl Howe's."

"I thought you'd be happy," She said and felt herself losing, "Now the position of… Loghain's bitch-lapdog… is open for you."

The man had grabbed her hair again and he slammed her head roughly against the table below her. Ffion saw stars and she stopped fighting, allowing the men to gain the upper hand. She tried to keep her senses about her and struggled to hold off the darkness that threatened to swallow her. She shook her head to clear it when the man's hand tangled in her hair and pulled her head back. Wincing and trying to hide it, she met his furious hazel eyes, determined to show him that he couldn't frighten her.

"You'll learn real pain now, whore," He snarled, "An' no ma'er how much ya scream, no one's gonna care."

Ffion spit in his face and earned another blow to the head that came closer to throwing her to the blackness. The man spoke over his shoulder.

"Bring it 'ere," His eyes went to the men that were helping hold her in place and he motioned to them, "Turn 'er over."

Ffion tensed, her grey eyes meeting his.

"What are you doing?" She demanded and heard the unmistakable sound of metal sliding on metal.

The man was pleased to let her know, though he didn't use words. Instead, he shifted his weight, allowing her to watch as another guard came close with a long iron bar in hand. One end was red hot and Ffion's eyes widened as she realized what it was.

"Like I tol' ya," The leader said with a horrible glee, "Once Arl Howe's, a'ways th' Arl's."

The men attempted to roll her over and Ffion wrenched her hands free to stop them. As the one with the brand came closer, the Warden fought like her life depended on it, even as the men succeeded in pulling her onto her left side. She tossed her arms up as the men tugged her shirt away to get at bare skin and screamed again. She felt the heat from the brand sear the skin of her hands and arms and she squirmed to get away.

"No!" She shouted, her voice echoing in the storage room, "No, you sick son of a bitch! Let me go, you bastards, let me go! You don't have-"

Her next words were lost in a scream more piercing then all the rest as the brand hit the skin of her back and the smell of burnt flesh permeated the room. Ffion's body was stiff, her eyes squeezed shut, and the pain was more intense than anything she had ever felt. It spread out in hot, steady waves from the brand and pushed that encroaching darkness closer.

"See?" The man's voice was in her ear again, "No ma'er where ya go, yer the Arl's."

"And that probably helped to… finally get it up for you, too," Ffion's voice was weak and breathless, but her venom was strong as ever, "Glad I… could be of service."

The leader lost his cool and for the third time, the Warden's head bounced off the table and she let out a relieved sigh as the darkness took over her brain.


	61. Chapter 61

**A/N: **Yay me! On time this week. I changed the Warden's fellow prisoner at Fort Drakon a bit because it worked so much better for me and that's the fun of fan fiction, right? Anyway, hope you enjoy!

* * *

She came slowly back to the world, pain radiating through her whole body, its source that brand on her lower back. She was lying on her stomach and the stones were cold and uncomfortable. Gingerly, well aware that sudden movements would put her back under, she put her palms flat on the floor and pushed herself up so she could sit as comfortably as could be managed. Her eyes were shut tight and she bit down on her tongue so hard that she tasted blood when her neighbor spoke.

"Take it easy, Warden," His voice was soft and hoarse, "You'll do more damage than anything else if you keep that up."

She opened her eyes and found that she was close to the heavy bars that separated them. Her cheek stung from the man's slap and the goose egg on the side of her head ached, but she studied her fellow prisoner with interest. He was about Eamon's age and his blond hair was speckled with grey. The scruff of a beard that covered his jaw and neck was thin and uneven, but his pale green eyes were bright and intelligent and his cultured voice told her this wasn't some everyday thief or killer.

"Not sure if I care," She replied finally and her own voice was rough. Every move meant needles of pain through her upper body and it made her breathless.

"Now's not the time for a death wish, Warden," The man said firmly and he was more animated than he had been when she was first dropped here, "With your help, we can work together to break out."

Ffion arched her brows, wincing. Even when she had been trying to work up the energy to make a plan, she hadn't really intended to follow through. She was done, now more than ever, Howe was dead and Eamon would help Alistair with the Blight. Her driving force was gone and she wished even more fiercely that Howe had killed her.

"Right, because that's a viable option," She replied finally, her voice biting. Shifting on the floor, she let out a gasped curse as the oblivion swirled closer and the pain left her speechless.

"It is," He insisted, ignoring her sarcasm, "The watch is changing in a half-hour. If we act now, we can get out of here and find some armor to slip into. That way, we can get out without detection. No, just hear me out," He held up one hand when she looked at him with parted lips, "You know that the longer you stay here, the more likely it is for your companions to try and break you out. And that's exactly what Loghain wants. But if you act first, helping me here, I can help you get out and protect your friends. Two birds with one stone."

Ffion's eyes fastened on his face at that and he smiled briefly at her. She wondered how he could have known that was what she was thinking and then she considered his other point. And knew that he was right. Alistair and Zevran were probably already halfway here and the others would have agreed to help without much convincing being done. She let out a sigh, hating this position she found herself in and for one of the few times regretting the loyalties she had cultivated over the past months.

"The name's Ffion," She wished she hadn't sat up and the man across from her heard the agreement in her voice without her saying the words, "And what do you want me to do?"

"And I'm Darroch," He answered and knelt close to the bars, "And all you need to do is exactly what you feel like doing. Lie back down and stay still. The guard will be here in a moment to complete his round and I'll take care of everything. Just remember to lie still."

Ffion let out another sigh, not wanting to go through the painful process of moving again, but she did as she was told. Carefully, wincing and mentally cursing those damn guards, she worked her way back to the floor and found that, cold hard stones or not, lying on her stomach was the only way Darroch's plan would work. She had no trouble remaining perfectly still, though. At least that way her pain was just a steady ache and not the stabbing, burning pain that was so debilitating. Unfortunately her little moment of relative peace didn't last long. The heavily reinforced door swung open and she could hear the guard's armor clinking together as his boots echoed off the floor. She evened her breathing out and slowed it to be as imperceptible as possible, listening as Darroch made his move.

"Ser," He called meekly as the guard started to leave again, "I think you may need to check on the Warden. She hasn't moved for a time and won't wake if I call."

The guard hesitated a moment and then moved to Ffion's cell door. She could feel his eyes boring into her and she didn't dare to move. He said her title loudly and then there was the rattling of keys as he unlocked the door. Wondering what Darroch was thinking, she almost held her breath and then decided against it. The man was coming closer and closer and, as soon as he crouched to touch her shoulder, Darroch acted. The guard was so close to the bars it made it possible for one of Darroch's thin arms to sneak through and wrap around his neck. The man's body was pulled against the heavy iron and when he opened his mouth to yell for help, nothing came. Darroch was stronger than he looked and within moments, the guard lost consciousness. As soon as he was completely under, Darroch dropped him and Ffion had moved just in time. The guard fell where she had been lying and she reached forward, lifting the keys from his belt. She drew in a deep breath and used the iron bars to pull herself to her feet. Gritting her teeth, she crossed to the door and unlocked Darroch's.

"That worked even better than I imagined it would," He said and grasped her hand to give it a shake, "I'll take his armor. I know that there's a storage room in the next hallway; we should be able to find something that will work for you."

He went into her cell while she waited outside, not wanting to be back in that cramped space. Though she couldn't bring herself to care too much, she was talking to him simply to take her mind from the pain.

"How do you know that?" She quizzed.

"I am a physician," He answered and sent her a small smile, "Not every little village can afford to have a mage healer living in their midst and so that is where I come in. And apparently my more… questionable work was not appreciated by General Loghain. I was working in the Elven Alienage here and the gritty truths that I uncovered led to this imprisonment. But the general's men are not reluctant to have me help when some other poor soul is too sick to be tortured and so I have seen most of this place. Let's go, the sooner the better."

He was completely decked in the armor that fit him fairly well and they swung the cell door closed as they left. Ffion paused beside the chest and sifted through the keys until she found a couple that looked promising. She was just about to bend and attempt them, when Darroch took the keys and unlocked the chest himself. They lifted Ffion's belongings and the physician helped her into her leather armor. She left the bottom buckles of the breastplate unfastened, the top one was tight enough, and her swords almost did her in. But she grit her teeth and bore them; Loghain's men were going to have to fulfill that macabre wish and kill her before she left them behind.

Darroch seemed to be a good luck charm. They left the prison and crossed through a wide empty hall that was clearly a training room for Mabari. Ffion could hear them through a small door and missed Tilly more fiercely than ever. The hallway that came next was well-lit and also empty, and Darroch made a right hand turn through the first door they reached. It was lined with chests and dummies decked in the fort's armor. Racks of weapons were mixed in with everything and Ffion again needed the physician's help with dressing herself. She found a set of armor that was slightly too big and it fit perfectly over her duster leather, reminding her sharply of the Arl's estate and she pushed that aside. She thought maybe this was a good thing, at least she was feeling more like her old self. Darroch also handed her a helm that was crafted so it partially hid the face and greatly reduced their chances of her being recognized. They pressed on when Ffion was ready and though the Warden struggled with keeping her shoulders and back straight, she was finally feeding off of an emotion other than wanting to die. The more she considered Alistair and the others coming to rescue her, the more she wanted to beat them to the punch. She had promised Eamon that she wouldn't include Alistair in this and she meant to keep that promise.

The nearness of the shift change worked in their favor and they were able to march through the fort with an ease that was rather off-putting, though they still kept a careful ear out for shouts of alarm when their absence was discovered. But there wasn't and when they reached the main hall of the fort, there were several groups of guards loitering about and Ffion and Darroch weren't looked at twice. Until they reached the front gate. The woman guarding the massive doors eyed them coolly, her hazel eyes hard and telling them that she wouldn't be easily fooled. Ffion pressed her lips together and allowed Darroch to take the lead here.

"And where do you two think you are going?" The guard asked, her voice rather bored.

"City watch, lieutenant," Darroch said promptly, his voice all eagerness to please.

The lieutenant seemed to relax some, but her main task was doing her duty and she glanced between them briefly.

"So early?" She inquired, still more curious than suspicious, "You know the watch doesn't end for another twenty minutes."

"Yes, lieutenant, but we've been posted near the Alienage and we don't wish to be late."

Ffion silently thanked the Maker that she had found someone like him and the lieutenant was thoroughly pleased to have a couple of soldiers that were so bent on doing things right. She gave them a nod and motioned for the doors to be opened.

"Good," She said briskly, "You two are a good example for some of the other louts around here. Be safe and do honor to our city."

They both saluted and found themselves standing at the top of a steep flight of broad stone steps in the early morning air. The sky was tinted ever-so-slightly a pale grey and a breeze that smelled of rain kicked up. Ffion was losing strength rapidly and now she could really feel the effects of the blood loss from her axe wound. Every step sent a shock of pain through her and she wasn't sure she'd make it down those stairs. But Darroch was walking right beside her, ready to catch her arm the moment her knees buckled, and there were too many guards coming and going to attract more attention then necessary. The walk out the main gates seemed to take an eternity and when they were finally, officially free, Darroch turned to her with a smile.

"And now we can breathe easy," He said.

"Yeah, and I can struggle back to Eamon's estate for more of this hell," She replied, pulling the helm from her head and successfully summoning a faint smile for him, "But I owe you my thanks, Darroch, I wouldn't have made it without you."

"The same to you. And you're not going to be returning to the Arl alone," He pressed on, wanting to get some distance between them and the fort before the alarm was raised, "I'll make sure you get there safely."

Ffion opened her mouth, prepared to refuse; she had put him through enough trouble as it was, and was interrupted when a familiar voice met her ears. She instantly grabbed Darroch's arm to keep him from reacting violently and turned to face the newcomers.

"I suppose it figures, my Qunari friend, that our dove would find her own way out without our assistance, yes?"

And there was Zevran, smiling at her with such tenderness and joy that it was beginning to dispel that desire to die. Sten hulked behind him and didn't bother to hide his pleasure at seeing her. The Warden blinked, sure that her eyes were playing tricks on her, and wondered how much more of this her body was going to take.

"What are you two doing here?" She asked, "And is it just you?"

"You surely didn't think that we would leave you in this prison," Sten's wasn't a question and his violet eyes were soft as he added, "Come, kadan, you know better than that."

She let out a breath, shaking her head in wonder. For all her previous black thoughts, she was thrilled with their response.

"And no, the others are here as well," Zevran continued, "Oghren was tasked with distracting the men in the towers here, lovely Morrigan was to keep watch, and Chirpy and the rest are looping around to make sure the coast is clear. Though I suppose now, they will have to be stopped, yes?"

He whistled loudly, sounding exactly like one of the morning birds, save the odd flat note at the end. That darkness that had been teasing Ffion for the past twenty minutes encroached boldly and she did her best to keep it at bay, but it was a losing battle. Her vision became blurry, the pain increasing, and she was suddenly so dizzy she was tempted to sit down and catch the breath that seemed just out of her reach. Darroch saw all of this in her face and recognized it for what it was. He said her name as she swayed on the spot and Zevran turned about sharply, but it was Sten that moved the quickest. Ffion's knees buckled as the fainting spell grew stronger and the Qunari caught her before she hit the ground. She let out a cry of pain as Sten tightened his hold and struggled against his firm grip.

"No," She said breathlessly and the darkness swirled about her, "No… I'm… fine…"

Her voice trailed off as she lost consciousness and she went limp in Qunari's powerful arms. Zevran glanced at Darroch, a frown furrowing his brow.

"She's been through hell," The physician explained shortly, "And the sooner she gets attention the better."

"Go," Zevran didn't ask questions and pushed Sten's shoulder, "I will collect the others and meet you there."

Sten melted away into the pre-dawn light with his burden and a half-second later, Tilly's shadowy form bolted after him. The Mabari had preceded her group and when they caught up with Zevran, none of them blinked an eye as Darroch trailed along with them. They gathered Morrigan, who had spotted Sten leaving, and had a tougher time trying to disentangle Oghren. He had had the plan to distract the tower guards with a game of dice and had started it early, getting just as wrapped up in it as the men he was deceiving. But Zevran was a master of persuasion and when the Dwarf understood what happened, he was eager to get back to the estate.

They did so in record time, Sten just barely arrived before they did, and Wynne flew to Ffion's bedroom. Eamon was there with Jess, his housekeeper and jack-of-all-trades, and she was setting a basket of bandages on the bed as the Enchanter entered. The Arl immediately turned and ushered the companions back out from where they crowded in the doorway, save Tilly who had crawled under the bed, and closed the door behind them.

"Give her some time," He said firmly, noting the pale and horrified expression on Alistair's face, "It's nothing life-threatening. She just needs calm and quiet."

"But-"

"Give her time," The Arl interrupted. He studied each forlorn face for a brief moment and understood their emotions. During the time of the Orlesian occupation, when life was so uncertain and they were never sure what tomorrow would bring, if it came for any of them, he had always felt his insides crawl with horror, becoming pools of ice, when he considered losing his commander. He gave them a gentle smile, "And take a page out of her book. It's been a sleepless night for most of us and I am going to see about getting an hour or two. I will be the first to hear if anything changes and I promise to notify all of you if there is anything to worry about."

He strode down the hall without another word, letting them make their own decisions about this. Morrigan instantly melted away as well and her bedroom door closed solidly behind her while the others exchanged glum looks. Darroch had disappeared from their ranks when they entered the estate, but no one was giving him a second thought, and Zevran was the first one to attempt to distract them

"I want a drink before I attempt sleep," He announced and his amber eyes studied each of them as Eamon's had done. Once again, nothing in his expression or voice gave away the turmoil within him, though he was felt about how Alistair looked.

The ex-Templar still stared at Ffion's door and his heart was in his face. His adoration for his fellow Warden was more apparent than ever and he was not trying to hide it. His hurt over being left behind was forgotten and he would give his own life to secure Ffion's, if that was an option.

"I'll take ya up on tha'," Oghren nodded to Zevran.

"I could use a drink as well," Leliana's musical voice was heavy and morose, "It is better than brooding in our rooms, no?"

Sten also nodded, to their surprise, and Zevran looked at Alistair again.

"And you, Chirpy?" He asked and made the ex-Templar jump, "Would you like to join us?"

Alistair hesitated a moment longer, his honey eyes uncertain.

"Come, Alistair," Leliana's voice was quiet and she stepped forward to press his arm, "Eamon is right, she needs rest and we cannot help with that."

Alistair allowed himself to be led away and they went down the steps to see what could be done about the drink.

While the companions were deciding this, Wynne and Jess worked on Ffion. They had cleansed and bound her axe wound and the more serious nicks and burns on her arms and hands, some quite severe, were puzzling until they found the brand on her back. They simultaneously sat back and stared in shock.

"Andraste's grace," The Enchanter breathed, her blue eyes horrified, "What kind of monster would do this?"

"Ask any slave trader," Jess replied matter-of-factly, getting over her shock quickly, "It definitely looks ugly and it needs to be cleaned."

She took up the bowl of the herbal wash they had been using to cleanse the Warden's other wounds and dumped it into the larger pail meant for the rubbish heap. Wynne's magic was useful to stop the bleeding and ease the pain, but Jess swore by her herbal concoction and was not to be talked out of using it. She mixed more as Wynne cast another spell, feeling her own strength disappearing as Ffion's pale face gained color. The Warden was in a complete swoon though her breathing had improved with the women's work and Wynne's worries were slowly easing. She hated seeing Ffion like this. Even in her unconscious state, there was a haunted look in the deep shadows under her eyes and her expression was drawn, like she was tormented even in her dreams. There were flashes of this when they were in the Deep Roads, but it had never been this severe and it was so strange seeing the normally busy and always thinking Ffion so still and pale on the bed. Wynne's maternal feelings for the young woman deepened and she reached out with one hand and stroked the soft chocolate curls that tangled across the pillow, wishing she could take the burdens from her shoulders with the same ease that she took the pain.

"Here we are," Jess' voice was more brisk than usual and she settled into her chair again and moved Ffion's shirt out of the way of her work. She dipped a fresh rag into the wash and gently daubed it against the burn.

While the Warden had remained still and completely out for most of the nursing, when she felt the cleanser this time, she moaned and began stirring. Her grey eyes, cloudy with pain, blinked open and she moved to push herself up and get away from whatever was poking and prodding at that tender spot. Which was a mistake. The burning increased and she let out a faint curse, dropping back to the mattress and squeezing her eyes up against the tears that sprang into them.

"Don't move, Ffion, please," Wynne's soft voice was tender but firm and she settled into the extra chair beside the bed, "That needs to be cleaned, so just let us finish this."

Ffion fumbled until she could grasp the Enchanter's hand in thanks and remained still. She reflexively squeezed Wynne's long fingers with each gentle rub at the brand and she couldn't help the little moans of pain that escaped her. Jess worked thoroughly and hastily, not wanting to put the Warden through more than necessary.

"They - ah! - They kept saying that I belonged to Howe," Ffion said faintly, her curiousity just about as strong as her pain, "So they were his, clearly… but I want to know what they meant. What did they brand me with, Wynne?"

Wynne saw in the Warden's grey eyes that she already partly guessed the answer to this and she hesitated. She didn't want to cause Ffion anymore pain, but what could she do about it? Her magic would not make the brand go away and so that meant Ffion would see it sooner or later. She just couldn't help that fierce desire that wanted to protect this girl.

"Ffion, you-"

"Either tell me what it is or I'm getting up and finding a couple of mirrors," Ffion's voice was recovering its old strength and Tilly slid from under the bed and whined softly as she licked her lady's forearm.

"Worst patient," Wynne muttered under her breath and earned a faint smile. She got to her feet and moved so she could look more closely at the brand. Jess was dumping her herbal wash again and unwinding a strip of bandages that would protect the tender, damaged skin. The Enchanter's face softened with pity as she studied the burn. It was roughly five inches in diameter and though the raised, swollen skin made the finer details vague, she could see the basics of it, "I'm not quite sure, Ffion, it's so-"

"Roughly, tell me what it is," The Warden's voice was a little muffled against her pillow and her fingers stroked Tilly's soft head, the joy of seeing her easing some of her discomfort and pain.

"It is the shape of a shield," Wynne began slowly as Jess returned to the bed with the bandage ready, "And there is some sort of shape within it, but I can't make it out very well."

Ffion went quiet and still, her anger slowly trickling back and making her voice as icy as Morrigan's when she spoke.

"Something like an animal?" She asked and when Wynne gave an affirmative, she added, "Rather like a bear?"

The Enchanter cocked her white head and gave the burn a last searching look. Now that Ffion had suggested that, she could see it better and she nodded.

"Yes, I think that's about exactly it. What does it mean, though?"

She was jostled aside by Jess and she glanced at Ffion, waiting for her answer. The Warden's hand stilled on Tilly's head and her face was white again, though this time it was fury and not pain. She closed her grey eyes for a moment and seemed to forget Wynne and Jess' presence. The Enchanter was about to say her name when she opened her mouth and uttered a word that she hadn't used since she was fourteen and consequently had her mouth washed with soap.

"Fucking bastards."

Her eyes smarted with tears and her heart wrenched in pain and furious anger. Even dead, Howe managed to reach out and touch her life, torment and terrorize her, and remind her that, for a brief time, he _had_ possessed all that belonged to her family. And his guards had brilliantly and cruelly found a way to tell her this by branding her with the bastard's heraldry. _But you're still here._ That little voice in her head told her. _You're alive and he's gone. The Couslands haven't lost everything and you have acquired a family that loves and cherishes you. Never forget that. And you have to think of Rick. If you give up, he will, too…_

"How's Rick?" She asked and surprised herself with the rough quality of her voice.

Jess had spread a cooling salve across the brand, bound it firmly, and slipped out of the room. Wynne's expression tightened for a moment as she thought about that poor, malnourished young man, and then she gave Ffion a particularly grave look.

"He collapsed on the way here and hasn't woken yet," Wynne held up a hand to stop Ffion from interrupting when the Warden's grey eyes grew wide and her lips parted, "He's been underfed for too long, Ffion, and his sleep was never really sleep. It is best if he gets as much rest as he can to recover his strength and the same goes for you."

"Yes, ma'am," Ffion sounded a little more like herself and though it wasn't the most comfortable for her, she settled firmly on her belly on that soft mattress. Jess' salve soothed her burns and Wynne's magic had eased her other aches and pains, and in spite of the dark chasm she found herself in, she was starting to come around. The fondness and loyalties of her companions was such a warm thought and she sent the Enchanter a tired smile, "And thank you, Wynne. You really are one in a million."

Wynne waited until Ffion was sleeping peacefully with Tilly sprawled on the floor beside the bed before she quietly padded out of the room. Knowing that the others wouldn't have rested easily when they knew so little about their leader's condition, she wandered down into the dining hall and found them clustered at a corner of the table with several jugs of ale. Morrigan and Sten were the only two absent, which was not a big surprise, and the others looked expectantly up at her as she approached.

"How is she?" Alistair asked, his hand wrapped tightly around his mug. His honey eyes were worried as they watched her settle beside Oghren and accept the glass Leliana pushed across to her.

"Sleeping soundly," Wynne replied and took a sip of the smooth ale. Her blue eyes looked around at each of them and she allowed a little white lie to set their minds at rest, "It looked much worse than it was and she needs rest more than anything."

Zevran watched her more closely than the rest and he saw what she was doing. He wasn't going to call her on it, though. Ffion's injuries were not life-threatening, the Enchanter would never keep that from them, but there was something that she _was_ keeping hidden and he was instantly curious. He was also smart enough to avoid asking her here. Instead, he made a mental note to finally corner his little dove and find out exactly where that chasm originated. Howe, obviously, had been a major component and though he knew the bare facts of the Cousland family's demise, he wanted to know everything from Ffion's perspective.

"Praise the Maker," Leliana sighed and took one more sip before getting to her feet, "I am going to follow Eamon's advise and try to rest. Thank you, Wynne."

"We should all try to get some sleep," Wynne said and followed the Orlesian's example, "Sitting here and worrying about her won't do Ffion any good. Or us. I heard Eamon's promise and I'll second it. If the unlikely were to occur, I'll gather all of you and we will take care of her together."


	62. Chapter 62

**A/N: **Another one of my favorite chapters and a nice long one, too. Enjoy!

* * *

Ffion's comfortable sleep only lasted a few hours. She began to have nightmares worse than those after the Deep Roads and she almost smacked Tilly several times when the Mabari nosed her awake. The dreams would start out normal enough, even happy, with visions of her family and friends and then, like a flip of a switch, everything would grow dark and gruesome. Her mother and Oriana would become screeching Broodmothers with Fergus and Oren standing on either side of them, repeating that Dwarf's chant over and over again. Gilmore would transform into Howe and cut down her father while he alternately begged for mercy and shouted accusations at Ffion. And one by one her companions, who stood over the whole scene like sentinels, would turn their backs on her. Alistair always came last, his honey eyes cold and hard, and he said the same words each time: 'I trusted you.' He would turn away and that vision of Howe loomed closer, covered in her father's blood…

And then she would start awake in a cold sweat, sobbing until she realized that it was just a nightmare. But she put on a good face later that day as she meekly remained in bed under Wynne's stern eye and her companions all stopped in to check on her. Her smile felt forced and she knew there were deep shadows under her eyes and her nightmares were fresh in her mind, but she swallowed her dark thoughts and desires and tried to be blunt little Ffion, for their sakes.

Despite the rain that had settled heavily over Denerim, Leliana and Zevran joined Morrigan when she returned Irminric's ring to his sister and informed her of where he was. They also used the opportunity to gauge the city's demeanor. Everyone was buzzing about Howe's death and the Warden's imprisonment, and the subsequent escape of the Warden from Fort Drakon. The tales about that were particularly amusing to hear. They ranged from a secret tunnel that had been bored through the earth into her cell long ago with just that purpose in mind, to a group of covert mages that had bewitched the entire fort so each guard was studiously occupied when Ffion passed by, to what became Leliana's favorite which consisted of a tall, dark, and handsome stranger, a dancing troupe, and a griffon.

Though amused by all of them, Ffion gave her companions and Eamon the truth of the escape and asked the Arl what could be done for Darroch's well-being. Only to find out that the physician was already making his own plans and conferring with Eamon to discover the best routes to take. He wanted to return to the Alienage immediately, but the Arl talked him out of this, warning that next time he was imprisoned, there was little doubt he would be executed. Loghain, by all reports, was beside himself with Anora's renouncement of him and blindly furious over Ffion's escape and he would be very likely to take out his frustration and anger on anyone he could. Particularly the man that assisted the Warden in flying his coop. So Eamon distracted Darroch by questioning him on those discoveries that threw him into the fort in the first place and found that the physician had more ammunition they could use against Loghain, as long as they found some tangible evidence to back this up.

When Ffion heard about it, she was all for traipsing through the Alienage and seeking some out, but Wynne gave her a very foreboding frown, her back felt more tender as the day wore on, and then word came that Gilmore had taken a turn for the worst. The Warden wasn't about to be kept down after that and Wynne had to relax her restrictions of Ffion's movements, if only for a little while. Ffion sat beside Gilmore's bed, her hands wrapped around one of his as she bent close and prayed for his healing. She was sliding back into the chasm again and didn't care. She wanted to welcome the oblivion of it, to finally join her family, as this last tenuous link that kept her going began to flicker out. Wynne allowed her an hour's time with her friend, but there was no change in Gilmore's face, in spite of Ffion's prayers. And then the Enchanter herded her to her room, quick to spot how much this had taken from Ffion's own constitution.

She helped the Warden settle into her bed and then grabbed Jess' salve to coat her burns. Ffion took the jar as the Enchanter came close and unscrewed the cap herself. Her grey eyes, horribly dark, met Wynne's blue.

"Thanks, but I can get it," She said, "Supper's about over and you've hardly had anything to eat on account of watching after me. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure-"

"I'm not losing great amounts of blood, the wound on my arm is healing, and the… brand on my back is a pain in the ass, but manageable," The Warden interrupted smoothly, "You've done too much for me already, now go get something to eat."

Wynne gave her a small smile, pleased that she was returning to their no-nonsense leader once more.

"All right, Ffion, but I'll come back tonight and check on you."

"Don't worry about it, please," Ffion replied briskly, the jar of salve held in one hand as she met the Enchanter's gaze again, "I'll probably just try to get some more sleep, so worry about me in the morning."

Wynne gave her a reluctant nod and left the room. Ffion stared down at the salve in her hand and then pressed the fingers of her other to her forehead, sending a plea to the Maker, Andraste, and whoever else might be listening for Gilmore's health. _Do I really have to lose him _again_?!_ _Please, please, don't take him!_ She inhaled a shaky breath and the burning pain in her back went ignored. It had been slowly easing throughout the day, but now it was a tight, uncomfortable feeling that was nothing compared to the ache in her heart. The voice that sounded so much like her mother chose that time to cut into those thoughts and struggle to be heard. _You've been given this last chance to help Alistair, Ffion. You are a Cousland, never forget that, and you can't allow your heartache and desires to be more important than the welfare of Ferelden. There is time for grieving when all of this is over. _

Heaving a sigh and knowing that there was no way to avoid what had to be done, Ffion took the advice, shoving the pain to the back of her mind, and not seeing how close her towering stack came to toppling over. She turned her attention to the salve and the burns on her arms. The right looked better; the burns hadn't been so severe there, and she sighed as the salve eased their stinging. She was just about to start on her left arm when there was a knock on the door. Shifting on the soft mattress, she absently called an answer and decided that she would just have to force herself to eat something. She didn't want Wynne decreeing that she wasn't well enough to get back to their work.

The door swung open, but it wasn't one of the kitchen girls that carried the tray. Zevran's green tattoo curled a little with his smile and his amber eyes danced with pleasure. She looked at him for a split-second and then gingerly went back to her work. Her heartache increased with the stabbing pain that shot through her arm and it made her voice dry when she spoke.

"Food, huh? Finishing the Crows' task would be much more welcome."

Zevran placed the tray on the little table beside her bed and turned to her. He clucked his tongue as he settled on the edge of the mattress and plucked the jar from her hand. He grasped her wrist gently in his other hand and pulled her arm to him to apply the salve himself. His amber eyes met hers briefly as she stared steadily at him.

"Silly Warden," He purred the words that were as much of a caress as ever, "I have already told you I am your man, yes? And the Crows mean little to me anymore. Besides, I am most curious about your fixation with your own death and I mean to discover the origin of it. You cannot shy away this time, my dove, so tell me what torments you."

Ffion hissed a little as Zevran's gentle fingers hit a particularly tender spot on her arm and then sighed again. She didn't want to do this; she knew that she ran the risk of falling apart completely and not recovering. But the Elf was looking at her expectantly, the amber eyes serious for another one of maybe five times, and she was talking before she quite realized it.

"You were with me at the bastard's estate," She began and her voice was soft and sad, "You heard what he said… and it's the truth. My surname is Cousland and as far as I know, I am the only Cousland that survived. Which means the Highever Teyrnir is mine as well as whatever remains of my mother and father's lands and riches."

Zevran listened to her words, but kept his eyes on her arm. The brand had slid up the skin and the closer he got to her elbow, the worse the damage was. He went on with his work, waiting for her to continue and knowing that if he said anything now, she would clam up.

"When Cailan called for his armies to convene at Ostagar, Father and Howe agreed to travel south together. They had been close allies since Orlais' occupation and no matter how much my brother Fergus and I disliked him, Father wouldn't hear anything against the bastard. So Howe came to Highever with a small troop of men and told us that the bulk of his soldiers had been delayed. Father didn't ask any questions and sent Fergus south with our men, promising to follow when Howe's showed up or first thing the next morning. They weren't delayed. The bastard waited until after supper, when the castle was quiet and he and Father were in the study reminiscing, before stabbing Father in the back and signaling his men. They ransacked my home, killed our servants, and set fire to anything that would burn," Ffion's face was white, her eyes blazing, and she sat stiffly on the bed. Zevran saw with dismay that not only was she in the chasm, she was stuck in the mire at the bottom, "Thank the Maker, Duncan, Alistair's mentor, was there and he helped Father get down to the cellar where there was an old servants' entrance that had been overlooked in the attack. Marmie and I found them there and… and I had just enough time to say goodbye before we heard the front doors burst open. Marmie stayed behind with Father to buy more time and they sent me with Duncan. I left them to die and saved my own neck and now I…"

"Don't wish for that, Ffion," Zevran said quickly as her voice trailed off, reading her thoughts with as much ease as always, "Never wish for that."

She gave a hollow laugh and her eyes were so dark, it frightened him. Her body was still stiff, though not with pain. The Elf was incredibly gentle with her and she was just… _hating_ telling this tale.

"Why not?" She asked and her voice was hoarse, "What's left, Zevran? You've been wondering what I was before the Wardens. A spoiled, doted upon daughter of a great Teyrn and Teyrna, cut down in their own home over petty jealousies and… politics. Cherished sister to an idolized big brother, presumed dead at Ostagar; sister-in-law to a beautiful Antivan woman, raped, brutalized, and murdered because she loved my brother. And aunt…" Ffion's words left her again and she pulled herself from his grip, twisting her fingers together tightly, and not meeting his eyes as tears flooded her own. She could see each beloved face more clearly than ever and Oren's mischievous smile tore at her heart. Voice trembling, she finished that last thought, "Aunt to an innocent five year old boy, slaughtered because he stood to inherit his father's title. And now, to top it all off, my best friend may never wake up. My dearest friend in the world, who I left to face fate alone, when we swore we'd see each other through anything. Tell me why I shouldn't wish for that, Zev, tell me what's left."

"Oh, pet," He replied and there was nothing of the dancing amusement in his amber eyes, "We are. We have all become a family, yes? You are not alone, no matter what has happened or will happen. You mustn't let these things break you."

Ffion's smile was infinitely sad and her eyes were still brimming with tears, but she had her voice mostly under control again.

"I was broken a long time ago, Zevran," She said, "Howe didn't manage to kill me that night, but I did break. The only reason I made it this far was because that bastard had to pay and now…"

"And now you have to depend on your own strength."

Zevran wished he hadn't spoken after the look Ffion gave him. She wasn't even struggling in the muck she had slid into and this calm acceptance made that desire to die even more fierce in her expression.

"I am _tired_ of being strong," She said with a sort of exhausted passion, "Every damn decision has fallen to me. Alistair is the senior Warden and he just watched as I took the initiative that's rightfully his. Morrigan and Sten, in the beginning, wanted to have control over everything, but never stepped up. Leliana was looking to follow someone and put her own demons to rest; Wynne believes in everything we're doing, but merely wants to be moral compass and teacher. Oghren was looking for a commander and found one, and you… well…"

"I tried to kill you," Zevran added, his eyes sparking a little, "The others would not have taken kindly to this. And I would not have done half so well as you with the decisions."

Ffion snorted, sitting straight and wincing.

"Everything has been left to me," She went on quietly, ignoring his comment, and her tone became rather desperate. She was close to the breakdown and she wasn't sure she could stop it, "From Lothering, do we head for Redcliffe or Denerim? Do we save the village or move on? Is the Circle whole enough to be worth the risk or is it the Right of Annulment? Do we seek out the Urn or head to Orzammar? Is it Bhelen or Harrowmont? Branka or Caridin? Haven or back to Redcliffe? The Dalish… Do we try to save them, take Zathrian at his word, or seek out another tribe? Trust the Lady or attack without investigation? Side with the wolves or the Elves?… Which was the same damn thing… Do I rescue Anora, risk Loghain's fury, or try Alistair's luck without her voice? _Everything_ was left waiting for my word, my agreement or disagreement. Even Alistair's little cousin…" Her grey eyes were swimming in tears now and she couldn't stop a few from tracing the curve of her cheek. Twisting her fingers together so tightly she was losing feeling in them, she studied her fingertips, "Do we travel to the Circle and ask for help with a little boy who made a mistake? Do we let his mother kill herself to save him? Or do we kill him and end his torment? A little boy who looks so much like Oren that…" She released a shaky breath, pressed her eyes closed, and brushed her tears from her face. When she looked at Zevran again, her own torment was clearer than ever and he had never found her more attractive. She was trying her damnedest to stay strong and losing spectacularly and he had always been drawn to strong, fierce women. His little dove was all of this and more, but she had to learn that a small break now would prevent a much more serious one later, "My strength is disappearing so damn fast, Zev, and I need what remains for Alistair and the Blight. So for tonight let's forget that I'm a Grey Warden hoping to die with the Archdemon and that I've told you all these things; let's forget that all these little cracks are starting to turn into one huge chasm and I've told you I'm broken, and face tomorrow with a smile."

The Elf shook his head, not liking this talk. He shifted closer to her and took her hands in one of his, making her look up at him. He touched her cheek with tender fingers.

"Break a little tonight, my love," He said gently, "Or you won't be able to face tomorrow at all."

Anger surged through her, a sudden fierce anger entirely unexpected and out of context in this situation and was made worse by the fact that his words broke the dam and she could feel the tears running down her cheeks. She tried to snatch her hands away and found herself crying in earnest when she couldn't. Glaring at him through her tears, she pulled harder at his grip and felt this irrational anger dissolving into that unavoidable breakdown.

"No, Zevran," She snapped and her voice was hoarser than ever, "You can't tell me that, not after everything you've said… not after everything that's been done… I can't, _I_ _can't_…"

And Zevran was there when she finally crumbled. She was crying harder, letting all that she had seen and experienced get the better of her, and the Elf moved closer. He released her hands and her fingers twisted into his shirt as he slipped fully onto the bed, stretching on his back, and tugging her down next to him. She curled herself closer, burrowing her curly head in his chest, and sobbed as her broken heart finally fell into pieces.

Zevran didn't try to soothe her, didn't say anything at all, he simply held her as she cried herself out. In no time, her breathing deepened and her fingers released their vise-like grip on his shirt. He wondered briefly about shifting her more onto her stomach, but decided against it. In a moment of still shocked disbelief, Wynne had shared the news of that demeaning brand with him, Leliana, and Morrigan when they returned from speaking to Irminric's sister. Leliana had been frankly incensed and the Enchanter swore her to secrecy, knowing how Alistair would feel about such a thing; while Morrigan, though not surprised, had definitely felt the sting of such an action. The Elf looked down at Ffion's chocolate curls and marveled at the little woman's strength once more. He was sure the men who had done that to her had had other tortures and humiliations in mind and he silently commended her for the hell she must have raised to earn just the burns.

Fingers slipping through her soft curls, Zevran tipped his head against the headboard and dozed a little himself. Ffion's weight was warm against him and Tilly's quiet snores filled the room with an odd patterned beat that fit well with the soft pattering of rain on the windows. His shirt was slightly damp from her tears, but this went ignored and the next thing he was conscious of was the gentle pressure of Ffion's fingers as they traced random shapes on his chest. The estate was silent and the windows dark, so there was no way to tell what time it was. The oil lamp still burned on the bedside table and its dim light cast a rosy yellow glow through their half of the room. Ffion hadn't said a word and she didn't speak even when his fingers found her curls again. Her own fingertips paused for just a split-second and then started once more and it was Zevran that broke the silence.

"Pet, what is 'Fifee?'" He asked quietly.

It was something that had been needling him for some time and he couldn't help himself anymore. She shifted against him and lifted her head a little.

"What?" She replied and her voice was still low and hoarse.

"When we found your man, Rick, he called you-"

"Fifee," Ffion interrupted him with a tone of such sadness he was afraid she would break down again, but she continued without a tremor or hesitation, "When my nephew, Oren, started talking he wanted to know all of the 'huger words,' as he called them. And of course, all of our names. The Couslands have always used the old names for grandma and grandpa, so Marmie and Father were Maimeó and Daideó, Fergus and Oriana were Pops and Mam, Rick is… Roddie, Tilly: Lilly, and I was Fifee… I hadn't heard that name since… It was so nice to hear."

Zevran's free hand, looped around and laying against her arm, pressed her closer to him for a moment at the lost and little child air that infused those words. He knew it had been personal, but he never would have guessed _that_ and he wouldn't presume to use it, no matter what. The other, though…

"And 'Fi-'"

"No," The Warden's tone was suddenly sharp and she was closer to that horrible break-down than he thought. Her hand pressed palm flat against his chest as though to keep any other words from escaping him and she went on in a thick voice, "Don't, that's Rick's name for me. Please, don't call me that. It isn't-"

"Easy, dove," Zevran's own voice had never been more tender and he held her close again, wishing with all his might he could take this pain from her, "I was merely curious and you have satisfied that. Now, my last question, I promise: do you wish me to leave so that you can sleep?"

Ffion's hand pressed harder for a second and she could feel her cheeks reddening as she gathered her thoughts. She didn't want him to misunderstand her… which he would probably do anyway, just to serve as a distraction.

"No, stay," She murmured and burrowed her head into his shoulder, hearing his light gasp and choosing to ignore its meaning, "This is the first time I've slept nightmare-free since leaving the Circle and it's… wonderful."

On impulse, the Elf bent his neck and kissed the top of her head with a tender possessiveness as he gathered her little body closer to him. He felt his heart melting and knew without a doubt now that he had fallen for the Warden. _Hook, line, and sinker._ A voice in his head told him. _And for one you can't have. Figures, yes?_ He ignored it and the pain it caused as best as he could and instead focused on enjoying this moment while it lasted. His fingers stroked her hair as he answered her with the same soft murmur,

"Than sleep, my love, you need it and deserve it."

* * *

Ffion woke again in the wee hours of the morning. She had rolled away from Zevran while she slept and just one of his hands rested heavily on her hip. He was sound asleep, his lashes making a thick curve under his eyes and his face soft. His blond hair crept over his cheek and if she didn't think it would startle him awake, she would have brushed it away. She studied his handsome face in the lamplight and felt her heart soften for him. He was so dear to her, he had been so kind and tender, and she would never be able to repay him for it. Not that he would ever expect it, but she felt her debt of gratitude towards him growing larger and deeper by the second.

She turned her attention away and felt her thoughts drift as well. They centered around Gilmore and she knew it was worry for him that had woken her up. The desire to check on him, make sure that nothing more serious had happened while she slept, spiked sharply. She slowly eased from Zevran's grip, hoping not to wake him, and she didn't. The Elf shifted, sighed in his sleep, and then his breathing returned to the steady, deep breaths. Ffion padded across her room and out the door with Tilly on her heels. Her back stung and her head ached, but there was no way she was going to let these annoyances stand in the way of seeing her friend. She found him in the same state as the previous evening. His face was pale and haggered, his breathing steady but shallow. The big bed he was lying on seemed to swallow him whole and Ffion winced, both for him and herself, as she sank into the chair beside him and took his hand in both of hers. She didn't have words for prayers anymore, she could only say 'please' to whomever might be listening.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, but had the sense that it was probably a couple of hours before the taint swirled to life and Tilly lifted her head with a _woof_ of welcome. The Warden glanced over her shoulder as Alistair came through the doorway and moved to stand beside her chair. His smile was gentle and a little sad as he looked Gilmore over and than fixed his attention on her. She felt a little shiver of apprehension that warred with the friendly, companionable air that surrounded the ex-Templar. This was the first time she'd really been alone with him since that night at the Dalish camp when he had touched her cheek so tenderly, his eyes smouldering, and they had almost…

"Any change?" Alistair's voice cut through her memories and he kept the words at a whisper as though Gilmore was merely sleeping.

At least her concern prevented the flaming embarrassment that would have made this situation even more awkward. She turned to face her unresponsive friend, her hands tightening on his

"None," She replied, "Not even Wynne has an answer for his state. She just keeps telling me that he has to have the strength to pull through this. Which is… I just feel so helpless and… Oh, Alistair, I just don't know."

Alistair's heart tightened in his chest, hating that lost quality her voice had taken. He stepped closer to her chair and reached out to grip her shoulder, wishing he could ease her heartache and not knowing how.

"With your devotion and support, Ffion, how could his odds be bad?"

She sent him a tremulous smile and his heart constricted again. He thought he had fumbled there, but her eyes told him that she appreciated the encouraging words and touch more than he could ever know.

"Thanks," She replied, "It's just, thoughts of losing him again… It just hurts."

He gave her shoulder another brief squeeze and left his hand there. He dug frantically for a different subject and though he knew now was probably about the worst time to bring this up, it had been bothering him for far too long.

"Why didn't you ask me to come along, Ffion?" His voice was hesitant as he asked, "I mean, Anora asked for the Wardens' help and I'm still part of the Order, no matter my half-royal blood."

Ffion's smile felt a little more real as she met his gaze. They had to get him away from all of the 'half' talk that he had started lately, it did nothing for his confidence level.

"You mean you wanted a night at Fort Drakon?" She was purposefully being a little dense; she wasn't ready for any confessions tonight…or this morning, not on her part anyway, "Completely overrated, let me tell you."

Alistair couldn't help but grin. Her voice was light, the words meant to distract and evade, but there was an underlying bitterness there that was at war with everything else. Also the black and blue mark on her cheek that incensed him every time he considered it was so contradictory.

"I'll keep that in mind," He answered dryly and then pressed on, thinking briefly that his new found ambition for discovering the truth would make Eamon proud. It meant at least some of the lessons were getting through, "Come on, Ffion, you've always been honest with me before, what's changed this time?"

And because she was still, underneath it all, wanting everything to end, she came the closest that she ever had before to telling him the truth. But there was that quiet little voice that stopped her and this time she really wondered _why_. Hadn't she just confessed everything to Zevran, fallen to pieces in his arms, allowed him to hold her? Comfort her? Sleep in her bed to keep the nightmares at bay? What was so different about Alistair knowing all of this? And, like a strike of lightning, she knew. Like his own magnetism towards her, Ffion was drawn to Zevran because of that darkness in his past that cast shadows over his present and future. They had that to link them, they both had lost everything in the blink of an eye and the Elf understood her desolation like Alistair never could. He had never truly been without someone he could cling to, even without knowing his father and mother. Eamon was there when he was a boy, he had found another mentor and idol after cruelly being torn from his foster-father; Duncan was there when the Chantry failed, and when Ostagar destroyed that, he had clung to Ffion. While she herself had no one. Not even Duncan, really, though he was the one that protected her on the road to Ostagar. They had touched on many subjects: the Blight, the Wardens; Duncan's own history, condensed; but she had done her best to bury her past life, never once letting him ask about it or allowing herself to soften enough to bring it up on her own. She had been entirely in her own world, depending on her own strength with Tilly as her shadow and confidant because the Mabari couldn't ask nosy questions, until Zevran. In him, she had seen that hopelessness, that macabre wish to end it all, that grim march to her own demise, and she opened herself to him in a way that no one understood, most of all: Alistair. And this forced her to wonder about her feelings for the both of them, to consider them more carefully than she had in the past, and… It was still as confusing as ever because she loved them both dearly in so many different ways and her heart wasn't ready to make that decision.

"Ffion?" Alistair's voice broke through this rabbit warren of thoughts, "You okay?"

She gave herself a shake and felt her cheeks flush a little. Squeezing Gilmore's hand to buy herself more time, she replaced it and then sat back with a wince. The ex-Templar had taken his hand from her shoulder and looked as though he wished he hadn't and she was warmed by the concern in his honey eyes. He leaned against her chair and frowned down at her and she thought maybe her decision would be easier than previously believed…

"Sorry," She finally answered as her cheeks burned more brightly before fading out, "Just lost in thought. Which was probably pretty obvious. And the reason is because I had made a promise to Eamon and I don't break my promises. Your uncle doesn't want you to ruin your chances in the Landsmeet and if you had been involved with all of that-"

"I would have been screwed," Alistair interrupted with a humorless smile, "You guys have got to stop protecting me or I'll be a disaster for Ferelden."

Ffion tipped her head against the back of the chair and sent him the ghost of her usual warm grin that he believed belonged solely to him. Her eyes were dark and shadowed, the bruise more black than ever, and she suddenly looked so small that he wanted to take her in his arms and soothe her troubles. Instead, he crouched beside the chair, leaning on its arm, and placing his hand on her forearm.

"Let us do it until Loghain's taken care of, at least," She replied.

He slid his hand down to cover hers, his expression tender. Maybe this was the chance that he had been impatiently waiting for…

"And what about you?" He asked quietly and heard how husky that unspoken thought made his voice.

She looked down at their joined hands and felt a slow warmth radiate from her heart. He was so different from Zevran, who couldn't help but insert innuendo into practically every conversation she had with him. Alistair was warm, sweet, and so genuine, and a small voice in her head was telling her that she would be so happy with him; he would protect her, keep those demons at bay, and- The voice would have gone on, but she cut it short abruptly. There was no need for those kinds of distractions… No matter how much she might long for them sometimes either.

"After that display of your loyalties at Fort Drakon?" She answered and tried to bring that lightness back. His honey eyes were too soft for a continuation of rational conversation or thought, and that wasn't something she wanted to start now, "I'm probably the most cared for girl in Ferelden. And the kindness you've all shown Rick…"

Her voice trailed off and Alistair pressed her hand as her grey eyes landed on her friend with a horribly tortured pain. He fumbled for a different topic and spoke without considering it… again.

"So that's the famous Rick, huh?"

He instantly wanted to take that back as Ffion straightened with a frown and he had to do some very quick thinking as she pounced on his poor word choice.

"'Famous?'" She repeated and her grey eyes locked on his, "Have I talked about Rick before?"

"Oh, yeah," He replied, not wanting to give her much time to think about where he might have heard the name, "I think I heard you talking to Zevran or Leliana about him."

Her frown deepened for a second and then, to his immense relief, she nodded. She couldn't recall any specifics, but that sounded like something she would do.

"I guess I have, haven't I?" She replied, relaxing back in the chair again, "And, yes, to answer your question."

"Why would Howe have had him captive?"

Ffion forced herself not to clench her hands, not while Alistair's was still covering hers.

"Well, Rick was part of the guard for one of the families up north that that bas- Howe slaughtered," Her voice was suddenly fierce, but she wasn't concerned by it. Alistair would merely think that it was for Gilmore's sake and she wasn't going to correct him, "I'm still amazed Loghain let the havoc wreaked up there go without any consequences."

"Politics," Alistair offered disdainfully.

"Petty jealousies, too, most likely," Ffion added, thinking of all that she had told Zevran and feeling that sweep of pain course through her, "I don't know why Howe kept Rick alive all this time, other than for sport. A sick, demented, twisted kind of sport."

It wasn't a lie. She really had no concrete clue why Howe didn't kill Gilmore with the rest. Though there was a little niggling thought in the back of her head that guessed he had held to the slimmest chance Gilmore might know her whereabouts… which merely fed into her guilt and pain.

"Well, good riddance to the bastard, then," Alistair's voice was nearly as fierce as hers, but it was more because he hated the sight of her torment.

The Warden glanced at him, her heart softening even more as he stroked the back of her hand to comfort her. The warm, tender light was still in his honey eyes and they flickered as she smiled gently at him.

"Exactly," She replied in a murmur and glanced down at their hands again, "And, thank you, Alistair. You could have taken my sneaking around in the way everyone else would have and you didn't. You've been understanding, kind, and so very sweet, and… you have no idea what that means to me."

His heart leapt at those words and he knew now that the Maker had finally given him his chance. He turned her hand palm up and grasped it firmly as he leaned closer to her, his voice husky when he spoke.

"You know, Ffion, you must've known all this time why I've done it."

Her smile was the barest curve of her mouth and her heart started thudding heavily. Something deep within her was suddenly blinking its eyes open and telling her that that choice between him and Zevran would be no contest. But the rational part of her pushed it aside, tamped it down, and told it firmly that now was not the time. Not when she was so shattered. Alistair didn't deserve that. He needed someone whole, happy, and beautiful; and she was such a far cry from that.

And Alistair had never found her more attractive. The shadowed eyes made her somehow ethereal, their haunted air calling to him, making that desire to comfort her more poignant than ever. The dimple in her cheek was a ghost of its mate and her voice was wonderfully low and husky when she answered him.

"A number of reasons," She had to be irreverent, she had to kill his notion because they couldn't start here and now. He deserved _more_, "I mean, I could start anywhere. It could be anything from the fact that we're the only two Wardens left in Ferelden and we have to start the rebuilding somewhere and it'll be smoother if done together. Or it could be that we've been in this, together, from the very beginning and you feel so fiercely loyal that-"

"Don't tease me, Ffion," He interrupted with a quiet passion that surprised her. She glanced up at him as his hand tightened on hers and he cocked his head even closer to her, "You know it's not any of those things and there's no way you've missed what's changed in the past weeks. Oh, Ffion, I-"

"No, Alistair," Her voice was just above a whisper as she pressed her fingertips against his mouth and her heart tried to leap out her throat and his eyes began smouldering, "Don't, not now. That… whatever you plan to say, save it. Now's not the time, or the place, for that. Please, don't."

He pulled his face away, his honey eyes suddenly hard and even more passionate. Ffion thought fleetingly that he would go on anyway or just screw it and kiss her, but she was wrong on both fronts. Still gripping her hand tightly, he locked gazes with her.

"Tell me it's not about him," He demanded, his voice still husky and his heart in his face, "I'll promise, but please tell me it's not about him."

Ffion frowned, glancing at Gilmore and wondering how it was that she could remain so calm about all of this, especially when the ex-Templar was looking at her like _that_. When he was waiting to pounce on her words and try to break down the defenses she was raising.

"'Him?' What do you mean, Alistair? Rick?"

"Zevran," The ex-Templar spat the name, "I keep my promises, too, you know, but if you're preventing this because of the Elf, I… Please, just tell me it's not about him."

And because she did care for him, so much, and couldn't let him go on believing that of her, she squeezed his hand, gentling her voice.

"Oh, Alistair," She murmured and pressed on when his face began to glow at her tone, "No, it's not about Zevran, you can rest assured on that front. It's just that, everything is so complicated, so uncertain, and I don't want something like what you have in your heart overshadowed by that. Your words belong to a day with sunshine, happiness, and… a victory. Not for a time like this."

Alistair, elated that Zevran wouldn't stand in his way, only heard that and a few random snippets, and in his joy he promptly forgot his promise. He leaned towards her again, thinking he could easily argue around her points.

"That just means we should take our chances as they come, yeah?" His words were husky and he sighed in disappointment as she tipped away from him.

"Not now," She implored again and her grey eyes clearly revealed her struggle with this, "I'm not ready to hear it and you know how ornery I can be when I'm not ready to hear something."

"So bloody frustrating," He was quietly passionate again, his honey eyes lit with a fire that Ffion had never seen.

"You know I care about you, Alistair," She said fondly, not wanting him to be angry. She just had to make sure he understood her own sentiments here. Reaching out with her free hand, she touched his cheek, "You're my brother in the taint and such a dear friend."

He pressed his face against her palm, his fingers loosely circling her wrist.

"I want _more_ than that, Ffion," He told her and felt the pulse leap in her slender wrist, "I don't want to wait."

She smiled faintly, her ears picking up what his missed.

"I'm afraid you'll have to," She answered lightly, "Because I'm pretty sure that's Wynne coming down the hall."

His eyes flickered and he leaned back a little, a look of intense frustration crossing his features. He spared a quick glance over his shoulder and parted his lips to argue, but Ffion added before he could start in.

"Please, save those words, Alistair," She instructed, her voice still gentle as she dropped her hand from his cheek, "And ask me again when… when the time is right. And, no, it's not now. You'll know."

That last was added as he made to interrupt again and she had pulled her other hand free as Wynne crossed the threshold and entered the room. She glanced between them briefly, reading Alistair's open face like a book. Trepidation coursed through her and she hoped that he hadn't done anything drastic. She had already had a talk with him about his feelings for Ffion and she knew that if they were victorious against the Blight and Alistair asked Ffion to stay with him, as queen not just an adviser, they would be painting such a target on themselves. It would be interpreted as a power-grab by the Wardens and that was the last thing Alistair would need to start off his rule. But Ffion's expression was the one of old determination and Alistair's spirit was alive and well and she clung to the little flicker of hope that ignited within her. She looked at Ffion, her blue eyes concerned.

"Here you are," She said, forgoing a greeting and keeping her voice quiet, "I checked your room, but… you weren't there and I was worried."

She finished that statement very carefully. Alistair was looking at her and so he missed Ffion's stern head shake. And the Enchanter had to commend her for the tact she was showing. Alistair really didn't need to know that Zevran had kept their Warden company the night before and Wynne wasn't going to be the one to let the cat out of the bag.

"I wanted to check on Rick and Alistair came in to keep me company," Ffion replied and though the pleasant tone was forced, she managed to come off as cheerful enough, "What time is it?"

"It has to be around six now, the watches have changed," Wynne answered and came closer to the pair, "I know you want to get back to the tasks at hand, but I want to check you out before we go anywhere."

Ffion gave her a nod and gripped the arms of the chair to pull herself up. She could feel how stiff she was from sitting in such a position for so long and Alistair instantly helped her. His hand grasped her elbow firmly and she was on her feet, smiling at him as she pulled away and stepped towards Wynne. The ex-Templar watched her leave the room, frustration spiking. He had promised himself that he wouldn't let anyone stand in the way of seeing another moment like that through, but he could honestly, and bitterly, say that he had never, in a million years, expected Ffion herself to dump cold water all over him.

* * *

**A/N #2: **Just letting you all know that the names for grandma and grandpa are the Scottish/Gaelic names.


	63. Chapter 63

**A/N:** A little shorter, but on time and this one goes back to the action-packed adventure! Yay! (Sorry about that, spending a little too much time with my VERY excitable, 3 year old niece) Take care all!

* * *

Wynne was right, of course, and Ffion gathered her troops in Eamon's office to discuss how to go about gathering evidence from the Alienage. Darroch also joined in and lent his own expertise. He advised them to seek out the city Elves' elder, Valendrian, who would be able to instruct them on the protocol in the Alienage. Alistair, in spite of Ffion and Eamon's protests, was not about to be talked out of going along this time and his paranoia concerning Ffion's well-being was contagious. She had the whole of her companions wanting to accompany her and, after a few half-hearted attempts to dissuade them and Zevran's advice of giving it up, she allowed it. Eamon shared Wynne's initial reluctance for letting Ffion go, but he was pleased with these arrangements; and while the companions were all preparing themselves, Erlina knocked on Ffion's door and requested her presence in Anora's quarters.

The Warden trailed after the Elf and found Anora standing at one of the wide windows. She turned as Ffion was admitted and the Warden could see that there was something fairly serious on the queen's mind.

"My thanks, Warden," Her cultured voice said, "I know that you are getting ready to depart and I had to speak with you before things went any further."

Ffion spread her arms as Tilly leaned against her.

"Well, here I am," She replied, "What's on your mind?"

"It's about the Landsmeet," Anora began hesitantly.

The Warden was quick to suspect her reluctance and her grey eyes leveled on Anora.

"We had a deal, highness," She replied firmly, feeling that brand more with each passing moment, "My companions and I risked our own lives to save yours. Are you reneging, now, at the worst time?"

She ignored Erlina's indignant stiffening behind her and the way the Elf's brown eyes flashed. Anora's back also stiffened at the cool, commanding note in the Warden's voice.

"Just listen to what I have to say, please," Anora replied and she disguised the effort to control her anger with an enviable expertise.

Ffion's brows arched and she folded her arms over her chest, nodding at the queen for an answer.

"I know what I promised," Anora began carefully and the Warden could hear all of the learned diplomacy in her voice, "Alistair is a good man and fierce warrior. The Wardens benefited greatly when he was added to their ranks, but in all honesty, we could surely both agree that he is not a ruler. He just does not have the passion needed. You do agree, of course?"

Ffion bristled at the slight and she couldn't stop her thoughts from drifting back to just a few hours ago, hearing Alistair's near confession, and seeing the fierce desire in those honey colored eyes… _No passion?_ Her mind repeated._ If only you knew!_ She answered the queen before her face flamed anymore and the situation got awkward.

"Alistair is Maric's son and he's growing," She said, rather surprised at her own calm, "Ferelden needs him."

Anora pulled herself upright, her blue eyes cold, and she transformed into the ice queen that Ffion had always heard of.

"And I am Cailan's wife," Though her calm matched the Warden's, her tone was sharp and almost petulant, "And I have been ruling this country for the whole of our marriage. What Ferelden needs is a strong ruler with experience."

It was on the tip of Ffion's tongue to put the first part of Anora's sentence in the past tense and she bit it back. But she instantly thought of Loghain's imperious words: _Ferelden _has_ a strong leader: its queen…_ and she wasn't about to let Anora walk all over her as she was far too accustomed to doing.

"And Alistair will fulfill that," She replied and loosed her arms to spread her hands, "We won't agree on this subject, highness, so it's useless to continue this. You made a promise; we had a… a deal and I have held up my end of it. I'm holding you to your word because I would expect nothing less, but for now, for the sake of time, let's put this discussion on hold until we get back. Are you okay with that?"

Anora studied the Warden, wanting to argue, but Ffion was earnest and honest, and the queen had no choice but to concede.

"Very well," She said, "We have an agreement."

Ffion nodded and dipped a bow to Anora, relief flickering across her face. She knew that she and the queen would have been stuck at loggerheads for ages, both of them being too stubborn to back down. Anora was entirely too used to getting her own way and Ffion was as well, if she was being honest with herself. But for now, they had a deal… _Damn that word!_ Ffion thought fiercely and didn't let Anora see how frustrated she was with this situation.

"Thank you, highness," She said instead, "Just hold that thought and we'll discuss this later. I can't waste any more time in dealing with the Alienage."

"I can tell you now that whatever is troubling the Elves will have something to do with Howe. Father gave him responsibility of the Alienage when things became too heavy."

Anora spoke calmly, easily, and Ffion felt a stab of pain go through her back at the name. She clenched her hands briefly and heard Tilly whine questioningly.

"No surprise," She said dryly, trying to force herself to relax again, "The bastard had his slimy hands in everything. Thanks."

She was already to the door when Anora's true motivations were revealed.

"Remember that, Warden, when the time comes," The practiced diplomacy was back, "That I was the one to help you."

Ffion's anger tempered under disdainful amusement. Her grey eyes were unreadable and steady as she replied,

"And you as well, highness, please keep in mind how we have helped you."

She turned and left the room, heading down the hall to finish getting ready. For the first time she had to wonder if freeing Anora had really been in their best interests. She had been taking Eamon's work with Alistair for granted, knowing the Arl was the best one to train the ex-Templar in the ways of the court and politics. And she had never considered Anora's reluctance to stepping down when the time came. Which was silly. There was no reason for the queen to step demurely to the side after she had grown so accustomed to her lavish, luxurious lifestyle. But in Ffion's own defense, her mind had been _very_ far from the rescue. In fact, with the way she had felt that night, she probably wouldn't have seen Alistair and Sten if they had danced the Remigold in Howe's courtyard… wearing dresses.

And of course, this led to a whole new set of problems to consider and one great hurdle.

She winced. That was cruel. Alistair, a hurdle? As though he was an object and not a strong, fine young man who was steadily winning her to him, mostly without her noticing. His warmth and tenderness, his obvious care for her, was making one thing increasingly clear to her. She could not deny her own growing feelings for him. She still wondered why she cut short that moment in Gilmore's room, and whatever had been woken within her when he went for that kiss and nearly confessed was pacing her head, demanding to know why she refused to jump at this. But she just wasn't -

"Ffion?" A voice interrupted her thoughts and she glanced up in surprise, realizing she had stopped walking. Eamon smiled at her gently, "Is everything all right? You are quite preoccupied."

She returned the smile half-heartedly and then decided to tell him what was on her mind.

"I guess I'm just concerned about the impact this may have on Alistair. I made an assumption about Anora's loyalties that I never should have," She concluded, dropping one hand to Tilly's head. Her grey eyes met his and she added slowly, "In fact, there were a lot of things I shouldn't have done that night, but…"

Her voice trailed off and she gave a rather self-deprecating shrug.

"But you had other business on your mind," The Arl finished and his voice was very kind.

"That's putting it mildly," Ffion spoke dryly, not wanting her emotions to get the better of her now, "So what do you think, Eamon, about Anora, I mean? Does this mean trouble for Alistair?"

Eamon spotted movement over the Warden's shoulder and watched as the burly Dwarf joined Zevran in his saunter toward them. Knowing that the Elf could show surprising tact and would give them privacy, he turned his attention back to Ffion, reading the care and concern on her open, honest face. His thoughts wandered to the joining of Highever and the Theirin throne and what a powerhouse that would be… and then he came back to reality.

"Concerning Anora, Ffion, there is one thing you must remember," He leveled his eyes on her, but the stern gleam was all for Anora and not for her, "She is a politician above all else and when favorable winds blow, she has no scruples whatever about taking full advantage, no matter who she might hurt. Her first priority is her own well-being and it's no more complicated than that. She is, in short, her father's daughter."

Ffion studied his face for a moment before smiling faintly.

"So in other words, what you're telling me is to watch my back."

It wasn't a question and Eamon didn't get a chance to respond.

"Well that is why you have me, my dove," Zevran's honey tones were as suggestive as ever though the amber eyes seemed to have lost some of the overt hunger for her only to be replaced with tenderness.

"In that case we shouldn't waste any more time, should we?" The Warden returned and her eyes held some of their old spark for a moment, "Give Tilly and I about five more minutes and we'll head out. Thanks, Eamon."

"Are you sure you are ready, Ffion?" Zevran quizzed, looking at her in concern, "You look quite tired still."

She gave him a brief, appreciative smile, sure that he would suggest the two of them return to her room if the Arl and Oghren weren't present.

"I have a job to do," She replied rather wryly as she realized she was heading down that same familiar, very well-worn path, "I'll rest when it's over."

She disappeared into her room before he could pose any other arguments and five minutes later, the companions headed out of the estate and across the city towards the Alienage. Ffion fell into step beside Sten, allowing Wynne and Alistair to take the lead. The big Qunari's stalwart presence was reassuring and Zevran stepped gracefully beside her. The others closed ranks behind her and reminded her forcefully of traipsing through Orzammar after destroying the Carta. She sincerely hoped this would be the last fight she entered when only at half-strength. Wynne, leading the way, seemed to know exactly where she was headed and she glanced over her shoulder as she diverted from the main road.

"There's a shortcut through a few lesser traveled alleys," She said, "Darroch is a wealth of information of the most random sort. He said it would be wise to keep… well, let's face it. We have to keep you away from the guards, Ffion, and he provided us a way."

"He's certainly something," Ffion agreed softly, touched by their joint concern.

Alistair gave her a warm, gentle smile and she felt her cheeks flush. The ex-Templar slowed his step and would have fallen in with her had Zevran not suddenly stiffened and dropped one hand to her forearm, bringing everyone to a halt. They were at the bottom of a flight of steps in the small, rather dark alley, and the passage to the next side street was through the doorway above them. But between them and the freedom it represented was a black haired man with skin that held the same golden, sun-kissed look that Zevran's had. He grinned dangerously down at them, his gaze fixed on their Elf.

"Get behind me, Ffion," Zevran said in a stern voice, his amber eyes devoid of any of the usual charm.

Ffion blinked at him, her grey eyes flickering up to the man ahead.

"What-"

"You're a tough one to find anymore, Zevran," The man said, interrupting Ffion. His Ferelden accent was thick and so was the blatant animosity, "Trust you to hide with powerful friends."

Zevran pushed his Warden behind him as Wynne and Alistair fell back as well. Every one of the companions was centering around their leader as more people sprang up and surrounded them. Wynne and Morrigan were already charging the atmosphere and Asala made a musical sound as Sten slid it from the sheath; Oghren's gloves rapped sharply against the axe handle when he flipped it into his hands and Leliana's bow stretched tight with a slight creak of the supple wood.

"So you have come for me at last, Taliesin," Zevran replied and his voice was as cold as his eyes, "I have been waiting for you."

The others frowned as Ffion stiffened just like the Elf. She could feel Morrigan and Alistair's gazes especially as Zevran and Taliesin glared darts at one another. Tilly growled furiously when Taliesin's allies closed ranks around them. It was roughly twenty against their nine and Ffion would be lying if she said that wasn't a concern. But her attention was taken up by Zevran's former comrade and nothing else mattered at the moment.

"I came to tell you that you have an opportunity to come back to us, Zevran," Taliesin was saying, his pale hazel eyes shuttered and their expression less than promising to the companions, "I know why you left and it's not too late to return. Come with me now and we will make up a story. Let things go back to the way they were; it's ridiculous to keep up this farce. All we have to do is finish the job you came here to do. Which shouldn't be a problem now."

Ffion held up a hand to her companions to keep them from interrupting and didn't look away from Zevran. She ignored the implication of Taliesin's words; they were outnumbered and that was alarming, but that hadn't ever kept them from success before. Besides, the Warden had more pressing issues to worry about. Zevran's amber eyes were still fixed on Taliesin and she didn't like the longing she saw there. She took a half-step forward and her shoulder brushed Alistair's.

"Zevran, please, don't," She said quietly, the plea meant for his ears only.

He cocked his head and his eyes met hers for a brief moment. Tipping his lips ever so slightly as a sign for her to relax, he turned back to answer Taliesin but was too late. The Crow was looking past Zevran, smiling wickedly at Ffion.

"I can sympathize with your desires," He said, his voice suggestive, "Zevran is quite talented; I understand why you'd be reluctant to let him go… not that we're giving you much choice."

Ffion's eyes narrowed and she drew herself upright. One of her hands dropped to her belt as Sten, Morrigan, and Oghren turned to the assassins that were creeping up behind them. Her grey eyes flashed and she was completely her old self in that moment.

"That's a mistake," Alistair offered and his sword was in his hand.

"Zevran no longer belongs to anyone but himself," Ffion added and felt the Elf's warm glance, "And if you want him back, well, it'll have to be through us."

"The dove's right, my old friend," Zevran put in and Taliesin's eyes flickered at Ffion's given endearment, "I'm sorry, but the answer's no. It is a pity it has to end this way; we were friends once, and more. But the Crows are behind me and I will not allow you to take the Warden from me like you took… her. Go home, Taliesin, or we will have no choice but to kill you."

"Perfect," Taliesin answered, his face twisting into sick delight at the prospect of what he believed would be a bloodbath, "You'll get the chance to try."

Before he even raised his arm in a signal, the knife left Ffion's fingers and the man that had perched next to him was falling back, the pretty hilt jutting from his eye. The fight was on and Zevran disappeared from her side and faced off with Taliesin. Morrigan and Wynne were standing practically back to back as the assassins advanced on the party. Archers lined the wall beyond the warriors that moved forward and Sten carved a path through them while Leliana picked the archers off as quickly as she could. Taliesin didn't have a mage fighting with them and this worked in the companions' favor.

Ffion employed one of the little tricks that Zevran had given her and tossed the small pottery ball at the feet of the men making for the Elf's unprotected back. Thick white smoke enveloped the two warriors and she ran up the steps, slipped unseen amongst them, and dispatched them. When the smoke cleared, she sidestepped swiftly to avoid Taliesin's rush at Zevran and whirled as Alistair shouted her name. Two more of the assassins were beating him back and his face was worried. She took out one of the warriors with her knife and then threw her swords up as a woman clashed against her. The archers were whittled down to three and Morrigan hurled boulders at the warrior that threw himself at Oghren. Their odds had evened out now and Wynne took the last archer down when an assassin charged Leliana and she was forced to fight hand-to-hand. Her knife blade flashed wickedly in the poor light and the remaining assassins cried out in horror as Morrigan transformed into a spider and swarmed two. The rest abruptly turned about and took off running only to be picked off by Leliana who had knocked the warrior into Sten's deadly path and transferred back to her bow without a misstep.

The assassin that Ffion was up against was just as fast as she was and the fight was too even for either one to gain the upper hand. Tilly charged up the steps and collided with the woman's legs and Alistair was right behind her. He swung his sword rather lazily, separating the woman's head from her body. Blood pooled down the steps, but Ffion ignored this. She whirled as Taliesin and Zevran's blindingly fast duel came at her and she meant to duck away from the assassin, but wasn't quick enough. She felt his arm loop around her waist, pulling her tightly against him, and holding her in front of his body like a shield. Zevran's dual blades were slicing through the air at her and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the blow.

"Maldición!"

The Elf's curse was barely audible and he dropped the blades, but couldn't stop his momentum. He collided with them and they tangled together, slipping in the woman's blood and toppling backwards down the stone steps. Ffion, sandwiched between the two of them, had some protection from the sharp, hard edges of the stairs, but she could feel every jolt go through her body as they hit. They came to a halt just as soon as they had fallen and she heard a sickening _crack_ beneath her. She was lying on top of Taliesin's limp body and Zevran was a heavy weight against her. She blinked her eyes open, feeling a sharp stab each time she took a breath and wondering if her ankle was broken as pain radiated from it. Worry coursed through her and she reached up to touch Zevran's blond head as the others rushed towards them, hardly remembering to take out the remaining assassins.

"Zev-"

"Well, that was unexpected, yes?" His voice was rather thick in her ear as he interrupted her, "Though I am not regretting this predicament we find ourselves in. There is no one else I'd rather lie here with."

Ffion felt her cheeks flush and was thrilled that he seemed to be none the worse for wear. He lifted his head to grin down at her and blood was matted in his blond hair from an ugly gash. She felt Alistair coming close and Wynne was already beside them when she replied.

"Yeah, well, you're not lying on a dead man."

"Ah, poor Taliesin," Zevran truly meant the words though they sounded more than a little clipped. He lifted himself off the Warden and took her arm to help her up, "He was a fool to think he could best you, yes?"

She clung to his arm as her ankle protested violently to her weight and Alistair's hand was instantly sliding under her other elbow. Giving the ex-Templar a smile of thanks, she glanced at Wynne.

"People will continue to believe they can best you," Sten's deep voice cut in, "It seems to be your human nature: the surety that those in power must be destroyed. And fortunately for you, kadan, this practice seems to be a death wish for whoever undertakes it."

"Ya gotta point there, horn 'ead," Oghren agreed.

Wynne cast her healing magic over Zevran and Ffion jointly before turning her attention to Morrigan. The witch was herself once more and had taken an axe to the hip. She was limping heavily and her face was pale with the blood loss. Wynne's magic did the trick however and Morrigan improved as Zevran and Ffion did; though Alistair was reluctant to let go of his fellow Warden and remained close by her elbow. They surveyed the damage as Zevran crouched beside Taliesin's prone form. The assassin had clearly broken his neck in the fall and his head was cocked at an unnatural angle. Zevran reached out with one hand and closed the staring eyes. He remained in a crouch, studying his former comrade's face as the others dispersed a little to loot through the bodies. Only the Wardens remained close, with Tilly, and he addressed Ffion without looking up at her.

"If there were any to begin with, there will be no missives on the bodies," His voice was almost gentle and he didn't have to raise it to be heard, "Rule one in the Crows: burn the letters."

"You don't think this was a Crow hit?" Alistair asked curiously.

"Not officially, no. I am sure that my former employers are desirous to know whether I am still alive, but Taliesin would have volunteered to find me without much encouragement," He put one hand to Taliesin's shoulder and then got to his feet, facing the Wardens fully, "This means that they will assume, once more, I have died with these fellows. It means that I am free to move as I please, so long as I disappear."

Ffion leveled her gaze at him, feeling a pang go through her at his words, or rather the implication. She didn't want to lose him, not now that they had been through so much together, and she was relieved to have Alistair's steady presence beside her.

"And a Warden's path isn't conducive to a disappearing act," She replied and could hear the sadness there.

Zevran gave her a smile, his amber eyes tender. He bowed a little, charming as ever.

"I am still your man, dove," He told her, "And I have sworn to follow you until you see fit to release me. My presence will increase the Crows' scrutiny, but if you are willing to take the chance, I am yours."

Ffion smiled beatifically at him and Alistair took it upon himself to answer the Elf.

"Then let's move on."

When Ffion turned the same smile to him, he felt that the wrench of those words was well worth it.


	64. Chapter 64

**A/N:** Next installment of the beast this story has become. Enjoy!

* * *

The others gathered round again, heeding Zevran's command to leave the bodies. He knew that they would disappear within a matter of a few hours and so it wasn't worth their trouble or time. Clouds were rolling across the sky, obscuring the weak sunlight and there was no need to linger longer than necessary.

"Ya still thinkin' alleys'r the bes' idea?" Oghren asked as Wynne ducked into a fourth and they crossed through unmolested.

Ffion shrugged her shoulders, feeling tired, as Wynne sent the Dwarf her patient smile. Alistair frowned down at his fellow Warden and Sten moved a little closer while the Enchanter answered the question.

"You will have to take your concerns to Zevran," She replied easily and the section of town that they entered seemed a little more questionable.

Morrigan's fingers were sparking with power as a group of thuggish looking youths stared openly at her and Zevran allowed a chuckle that held more than a little self-loathing. His amber eyes danced as he looked down at Oghren and clapped his hand against the Dwarf's shoulder.

"It is as I said, my smelly friend, a displaced Crow draws unsavory attention," He said, "Add this to your travels with marked Wardens and you lose hope quickly, yes?"

"Agreed," Leliana put in, "Though we must put our focus on keeping said Warden safe, no?"

Ffion rolled her eyes as they turned another corner and saw the large, foreboding gates of the Alienage ahead. She lengthened her stride to fall in beside Wynne and let out a relieved sigh when it was clear the gates were hanging open.

"Stop treating me like a chicken without a head," She said as sharply as she could manage; she loved their concern, "I would think you'd figure out by now that's far from the truth."

They weren't given a chance to continue that conversation. The Alienage was dark and dingy never mind the Elves' work to keep things tidy. And it was no mystery as to why it looked as it did. There was little doubt that Denerim's officials kept the Elves downtrodden as a mean to control them and even this remote, tucked away corner of the city was a gift to placate them. But even as her heart twisted with pity, Ffion kept her mind on their task and fell in beside Wynne again while the Enchanter made her way toward the massive tree that towered in the middle of the Alienage. It seemed so out of place and odd; this thick, lush foliage that thrived in a dank little village, but its beauty was intimidating.

The Elves that were going about their day gave Ffion's party curious or suspicious glances, but they didn't provoke them. A companionable silence had fallen over everyone and lasted until Morrigan began speaking, to Zevran of all people.

"There is something I am curious about, Zevran," Her cool voice was almost amiable, but the superiority was impossible to lose.

"You know the answer is yes, lovely," Zevran purred, back to his old self after the unexpected roller-coaster that confronting Taliesin put him through.

Power crackled from the witch's fingertips and she glared at him.

"One finger, Elf, and you lose your head."

The others chuckled at that, not used to seeing Zevran struck down so quickly. The Elf himself merely shrugged his shoulders and mocked disappointment.

"And I am quite fond of my head," He said with a long-suffering sigh, "Very well, Morrigan, what do you wish of me?"

Even that managed to sound suggestive and Alistair wondered how he did it. Charm and flattery were second nature to Zevran and the ex-Templar couldn't help but be a little envious of that. His gaze flickered to the back of Ffion's chocolate head. It would be so nice to be able to say just the right thing to Ffion, the way the Elf did; making that pretty flush creep across her cheeks and her grey eyes become soft and glowy… And then Morrigan answered Zevran and her words brought that train of thought to a halt.

"Apart from the leader of that foolish little band and perhaps four others, most of your assassins were Elves," She said with a frown, "Is this a common practice?"

Before Zevran could answer Alistair leaped on the witch's words, never passing up the opportunity to tease and provoke her. His honey eyes widened and he spoke with comical disbelief.

"Wait! The great Morrigan admitting that she doesn't know something? We have to hold everything and find the Chantry, Ffion, they need to know this. Maybe they'll turn today into a holiday: Know Nothing Day? Witch Fails Day?… Oh, we'll have time to think of something, this has to be a day for the ages."

Oghren grinned while Sten muttered under his breath; Wynne looked amused, and Leliana and Zevran laughed. Morrigan turned the full force of her glare on the ex-Templar and the magic was tangible as it surrounded her. Ffion sent Zevran a pleading look, knowing the Morrigan was getting quicker about casting before Alistair could use his Templar trick to stop her and she didn't want her fellow Warden's life cut tragically short. Leliana came to her rescue.

"Aesthetics," She managed between giggles.

Zevran had composed himself and he nodded at the Orlesian.

"She is right," He agreed, rather brusquely as though this wasn't exactly a topic he wanted to discuss, "In Antiva and several other nations there is a long-held belief that humans find Elven faces beautiful. When you work as I did and they do, you must know a target's weakness, yes? Fondness for anything is exploitable; fondness for beauty? Ah, that is deadly."

Ffion looked at the Elf speculatively, her eyes pitying, but Sten was the first to speak.

"Your race, beautiful?" His deep voice was unimpressed and his violet eyes flickered over Zevran before glancing disdainfully about the Alienage, "There is nothing to your people. I find this incredibly difficult to believe."

Ffion wasn't convinced Sten was being serious, but her attention was diverted from the shock that the Qunari might actually be _joking_. Her eyes fixed on the street ahead and a frown had begun to crease her brows as she pressed on and Zevran grinned mischievously at Sten. Morrigan fastened her eyes on him with a particularly appreciative expression.

"Don't judge so quickly without having… hands on experience, my dour friend," Zevran told the Qunari with that same familiarity that made both Sten and Oghren uncomfortable.

Morrigan glossed over this.

"He cannot help wanting perhaps a bit… more in his bed," The witch said smoothly, as suggestive as the Elf.

Oghren looked up at her with near reverence, Zevran gave her a knowing wink, while Leliana giggled at Alistair's coloring cheeks and Sten moved to stand with Ffion and Wynne. Not because of embarrassment, but because the Warden had long ago stopped paying attention and her soft exhalation brought them all back to the reality of what they were supposed to be accomplishing today.

"Uh oh."

They had reached the Alienage's square and the branches of the vhenadahl tree blotted out the looming grey clouds. There were several small homes ringing the square, nestled amongst a few bigger buildings, but it was the one ahead that held Ffion's attention. It was long and low with heavily shuttered windows and a group of roughly twenty Elves gathered at the locked doors. Two mages garbed in Tevinter robes were standing guard here and answering frantic questions that the Elves threw at them. One female's voice rose above the others and rang through the square.

"Oh, so you're helping us now, shem? Just like you _helped_ Elder Valendrian and my uncle Cyrion? The only thing you _helped_ them do was never be seen again!"

"Uh oh," Leliana echoed Ffion's concern with a sigh.

They watched warily, wondering if the mages would lose their patience and what would happen then. But instead of this, a small dark haired Elf darted forward through the crowd and tugged the one who spoke from the throng while their fellows took up her protest and began shouting at the mages. The dark Elf was vaguely familiar to Ffion and when he escaped the press, she recognized him with a hot rush through the brand on her back. Before the others could stop her, she started forward, hurrying after the pair with Tilly on her heels.

"Please, wait a minute," She called softly, not wanting to draw any more attention to them.

Though the dark haired one recognized her instantly and tightened his hold on the arm that he clasped, his companion had no such qualms about remaining inconspicuous and she whirled on Ffion, her hazel eyes fiery.

"And you, too, shem? You want to help these bastards with their sick, twisted game? Let's hide the Elves! No one will care! How about it? You want to tell me that you're trying to help, too?"

"Actually, she is," Alistair's voice was cold as he came close to Ffion.

The male Elf tugged at the girl's arm.

"Stop, Shianni, this is her," He said sternly in a voice that was much stronger than Ffion remembered, "She's the one who saved me from Howe. It's the Warden."

Thankfully he kept his voice quiet, knowing firsthand how important it was to keep attention from the guard to a minimum. Shianni softened a bit; her eyes became a little less stormy anyway. They flickered over Ffion and the rest of the companions rather disdainfully still, but her voice had tempered.

"Well, then you're all right, I guess," She said grudgingly, "Soris told me you didn't even ask questions, just let him out of that prison. That's decent, for a shem."

Ffion knew that 'shem' or 'shemlin' held the same derogatory meaning for humans that 'knife-ear' did for Elves. She wasn't offended though. The Elves had every reason in the world to show humans nothing but poison.

"Well, thanks," The Warden replied, appreciating Shianni's blunt way of speaking, "And Alistair's right, we did come to help, no matter what you might think. We've been speaking with the physician Darroch."

"Darroch?" Both Elves repeated the name in unison.

"Is he here?" Shianni asked, her gaze going over them again.

"No," Ffion answered, "It's dangerous enough for me to be walking around in the open. If Darroch was here, he would probably be executed on the spot."

Shianni grudgingly gave her the point, ruffling her bright red hair with one hand as Alistair cut in.

"He told us that we should try to get in touch with the Elder Valendrian," He said and glanced between the pair, "But did we hear you correctly? He's been… taken?"

Shianni gave a solemn, grim nod.

"Along with our uncle Cyrion," Soris added, his large brown eyes saddened, "The Tevinters made a claim a few weeks ago that some sort of plague was sweeping through the Alienage and they keep pulling our people off the street for isolation to prevent its spreading."

"They say that they're hospitalizing them for our benefit; that they're curing them, but they haven't released them."

"Shianni-" Soris protested.

"Two out of two dozen means nothing!" Shianni snapped impatiently, "They're taking our people, cousin, and someone has to answer for it. They can't keep treating us as though we are disposable property!"

Wynne watched the exchange silently, a frown creasing her face, and she spoke into the heavy, tense silence that fell between the Elves.

"You don't think…" She hesitated, glancing from one to the other, "You're thinking a possible slave trade."

Ffion's brows arched up at the Enchanter.

"'Slave trade?'" She repeated, "In Ferelden? Come on, Wynne, Loghain wouldn't-"

"Wouldn't he?" Leliana interrupted, "He is desperate, no? You cannot think that he would let something like morals stand in the way of accomplishing his quest."

"I am a perfect example of this, yes?" Zevran agreed with a winning smile.

"Sure, what's a few Elves in the larger scope of things?" Shianni's voice was very bitter.

"Especially when you can purchase an ally," Morrigan said coolly, her gold eyes unreadable.

Ffion was still doubtful and then she remembered Loghain's impassioned words to Eamon what seemed like years ago now: _There's _nothing_ I would not do for my homeland._ Alistair must've had the same thought. His honey eyes were somber when she glanced up into them.

"I don't think I'd put it past him, Ffion," He said quietly, trying hard not to stare at the curve of her mouth, "We need to help them."

She nodded firmly, ignoring Morrigan's sigh and looking at Soris and Shianni.

"And that's obviously the hospice?" She asked and then added after the affirmative, "Is there another entrance?"

"Yes," Soris answered rather nervously, "But they usually keep it guarded; just one guard though."

Ffion's expression turned thoughtful. She eyed the building and knew how foolish it would be to storm the front doors. She would wind up getting a lot of innocent Elves killed if she did so and she tugged on a loose curl as she made up her mind.

"Alistair, Wynne, Zevran, and Sten, stay here with Shianni and watch those mages," She said, "The rest of you, come with Soris and me around to the back. We'll signal you."

She added the last a little impatiently as Zevran and Alistair began to protest. They both felt the sting of her exclusion. It had only happened once to Zevran who had ignored the command anyway; and Alistair didn't want to let her out of his sight again, considering what had happened last time. If she didn't come back…

"Ffion-"

"I'm sure," She interrupted Wynne firmly and then gave them all a smile, "Trust me, it'll work out. We'll be right back."

They watched her slip away with the others, Soris leading them around the back of the building.

"I suppose it does make sense," Sten offered as Alistair watched her unhappily.

"How so?" Zevran asked curiously as he leaned on the wall of the building they gathered against and unconsciously let his fingers wander to his belt and that lock of chocolate hair.

"Two humans, an apostate witch, and a Dwarf-" Sten began.

"Sounds like the start of a bad joke," Alistair muttered, unable to relax.

"If the guard is to be deceived, this group will accomplish it easily," The Qunari went on as though Alistair hadn't interrupted, "Ffion is no fool. She knows that Morrigan and the Dwarf have the right mentalities to pass for possible slavers and Leliana can persuade anyone to believe what she wants them to believe. The morals of the first two work in her favor and the skills of the third are unmatched."

"And so my talents are moot?" Zevran inquired, a smile playing with the corners of his full mouth.

Shianni proved to be just as quick as any of them.

"You're an Elf," She said simply, her hazel eyes hard on the two Tevinter mages, "One thing about our people: we do not betray our own and these bastards know it. You would've spoiled the ruse."

Zevran winked at her, inclining his head in agreement.

"Very neatly disposed of, thank you," He told her and this time grinned fully.

"She's helping us," Shianni shrugged her slender shoulders and her hazel eyes tempered even more, "We will watch the mages as she asked and the minute there's trouble, we'll help her. She won't be left to fend for herself in this."

"No she will not," Zevran agreed with conviction.

Alistair gave him a quick glance, feeling the same rush of emotion. He wasn't about to lose Ffion to the Elf and was more determined than ever on that front, but for a split-second he saw the raw feeling in Zevran's face and knew that there was every possibility for this to turn into one hell of a fight.


	65. Chapter 65

**A/N:** Sorry about the delay! Next chapter and I hope you all like it. Happy Halloween!

* * *

"They cannot be making this worth your while," Leliana was saying to the sour-looking guard that stood at attention at the back door, "We are merely here to inspect the work and make our report. Our orders are to make sure that everything is flowing smoothly and there is no need to make everyone stiff and uncomfortable over just a few minutes of private investigation, no?"

The guard's eyes flickered as he thought over Leliana's words. They had conversed briefly about their strategy while Soris led them to the back of the hospital and the Orlesian simply told Ffion not to worry unless she really had to. Soris remained out of sight of the guard, knowing how recognizable he was as an Alienage local, and Morrigan and Oghren both held their tongues when Leliana stepped forward and began passing them off as delegates hired by the Tevinter lords to make sure that everything was going smoothly. The guard was doubtful at first, but the Orlesian knew more about Tevinter and her practices than anyone would have guessed and now they could see him wavering.

"Perhaps we could make it more rewarding," Ffion cut in. She had altered her belt before they approached the guard and she saw how his eyes went hungrily to the coin purse, weighing it in his head; and now she reached in with slender fingers, pulling out six sovereigns and stepping closer, "There will be another four if you let us do our work unmolested and without the scrutiny of your other fellows. We need to observe things here without their knowledge so that we can get a true feel for how serious this plague might be."

The guard held out his hand without seeming to realize it and blinked at the weight of the gleaming sovereigns. His near black eyes met Ffion's grey and then flickered to Leliana briefly before he stepped from the door.

"I can give you fifteen minutes," He said and his voice was rather breathless, "No more. You know, I have four mouths to feed at home and this job is barely covering those as it is. I could use all the help I can get."

Ffion watched him speculatively as Leliana unlocked the door and handed the key back. He wasn't trying to weasel his way into her money pouch; he was merely stating a fact and she felt a sudden rush of pity. This man clearly didn't know what he guarded any more than they did; he just wanted the money that it represented. She dug into her pouch again and pulled out another six sovereigns. Eamon had taken over the funding of their little band, or rather Teagan had, and they were not short of money.

"Then ease your mind for a time, ser," She said and dropped them with the rest, "And go and get something to eat."

He blinked at the money in his hand and then glanced up at her with a shocked, relieved smile.

"Maker bless you, serah," He replied, "You have no idea what this… what this will mean."

Ffion inclined her head and then was herded up the steps by Oghren as Leliana and Morrigan disappeared inside the building and the guard vanished around the corner. Tilly's claws scraped against the wooden floor as Ffion swung the door closed and the half dozen Tevinters in the room turned to face them. Four of them were armored guards while two were mages and one of these stepped forward, eyes narrowing as he studied the companions.

"What is this?" He asked, his voice cold, "Who do you think you are, barging in here like this?"

Leliana had just opened her mouth to try and pass off another lie, but one of the guards was much more observant than his fellows and he broke their cover.

"Wait, ser," He said quickly, staring at Ffion, "This one looks familiar, but it can't… it is! This is the Warden! You little bitch, you-"

Whatever he was going to accuse Ffion of went unknown. Morrigan almost lazily swung her staff around and blasted him with a bolt of lightning. It arced over to one of the other guards and would've gone around to the rest, but they threw themselves at the companions. Ffion and Oghren stood forward with Tilly, giving Leliana a chance to take out one of the mages and a third guard. Morrigan was busy with the fourth and Ffion disentangled herself from her fight to dive at the mage and dispatch him before he could cast. The fight was quick and once it was over, they prowled about the room. It was a large, rather square area that was completely open. There were a few cots scattered about, but these were empty and as Ffion made her way to the heavy, ornate desk in the front corner of the room, there was a cry for help. Opposite the desk a doorway opened onto a much smaller room and in this was a tall, barred cage that held four Elves.

"Oh, praise Andraste," One said and he put his arm around a woman as she started crying softly, "We weren't sure… we heard the fighting and we hardly dared to hope."

Ffion went to work on the lock, picking it with ease and pulling the gate open.

"What's going on here?" She asked as the Elves stepped from the cage and smiled grimly at their saviours.

"They were talking about shipments and payments," The Elf answered, his blue eyes scanning the room and eager to escape, "I never did get a complete answer, but they kept saying that the magisters were going to be so pleased."

"Wynne was right," Leliana said softly. She stood in the doorway, a money pouch in one hand and a missive in the other. Her blue eyes scanned the paper and then met Ffion's gaze, "They're slavers, Ffion."

The female Elf was still crying and she let out a little moan of terror. Her companion held her even closer as the other two pressed her shoulder reassuringly.

"Please, serah," The man said imploringly, "If you mean to put an end to this, keep an eye out for our girl. Her name is Lara and she's not yet thirteen. I hate to think what these bastards… Please."

"We're puttin' a stop to it," Oghren growled, "Don' ya worry."

The Elf's face relaxed a little and he nodded to the back door.

"They took the others out that door and I think I heard them say something about the alley out back. I know they didn't parade them back through the Alienage, that's for sure."

"We'll figure it out," Ffion told him, "Wait here while we leave and make sure the coast is clear."

The companions went back to the door and Ffion opened it a half inch to peer out. Soris jumped a little and then motioned her to continue when he recognized her. The Warden pulled it all the way open and waved for the Elves to follow. Soris smiled at his fellows as they slipped away and then turned his attention to Ffion.

"The guard left for the square and I haven't seen him yet, but I don't think you'll have a whole lot of time to get out," He told her.

"I suppose 'tis this alley, Ffion," Morrigan offered, motioning to the little back street that led to a set of rundown buildings.

Soris followed the witch's movement and frowned.

"Those are old apartments," He said, "Though they haven't been used in a while. Beyond them there isn't anything except some old warehouses. Most of those are completely deserted, but… but they used to run all the way to the river and I'm sure there's still a few passages that end up there."

"Then we have our route," Ffion answered, her thoughts going in the same direction that Soris' did, "Would you signal the others, Soris? And then you and Shianni get to safety with as many of the Elves you can convince to go with you. If those mages return to the hospice and see… I don't want you guys taking the brunt of their anger."

Soris nodded and disappeared. A moment later, the rest of the companions were hurrying towards them and Alistair looked Ffion over carefully before being satisfied with her well-being. He seemed a little distracted, but shook his head at Ffion when she gave him a questioning glance. She left it alone and instead explained what happened as she turned her attention to the back street and they entered the decrepit apartment building. Immediately they fell into an uneasy silence. The building was deserted, but the atmosphere of the place felt heavy and oppressive. There was something eerie in the quiet and they moved gingerly through the dark hallway as they investigated. The door to the right opened on an empty room and there was evidence of someone leaving hastily. Covers were half off the cots, chairs had been pushed from the table abruptly; they could see the marks in the dust on the floor.

Ffion didn't want to linger and she pressed on to the next hallway. At the end of this, there was a quiet _swishing_ sound and they could just make out the Elf's shape as he swept spilled coal off the floorboards. He almost dropped the broom when he spotted them and he would have flown the place had they not barred the way.

"W-who are you?" He demanded, trying to make his voice strong, "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

"We might ask you the same thing," Wynne replied dryly.

Zevran flipped the Elf a sovereign, getting his attention.

"We only want answers," He said smoothly, "What is going on here?"

"I-I don't know," The Elf replied.

"An' ya 'spect us to believe it?" Oghren cut in.

"I mean it, I don't know," The Elf's voice was surer, "They just asked me to come in and clean up when I could."

"And you did not think this odd?" Morrigan's tone was more than a little disbelieving, "I was under the impression the Elves do not go against their own and-"

"The - I can only say that they take the groups out through the other door," He was looking between them all and his eyes kept straying to Sten's hulking form, "They always lead them out, I don't ever see them come back through."

Alistair arched his brows.

"Most of us would find that a little suspicious."

"He's telling the truth," Wynne cut in, "There's nothing else that you remember? Even the smallest detail would help."

The Elf responded to Wynne's gentle voice more readily than the others' demands and he thought for a moment before shaking his head.

"Nothing, I'm sorry, but there's nothing."

Ffion took the lead again and they continued through the odd, disheartening building towards the back door. They passed two more rooms, the second of which had a few spots of blood spattering the floor and Alistair stooped to pick up an object that was lying in the doorway. Ffion moved closer to get a better look and felt her heart drop. It was a small handmade doll that had clearly been well-loved. Ffion had seen a number of the same things from the Elves that her family employed in Highever and the nostalgia was painful. She thought of the poor Elves trapped in the hospice and the man's plea: … _She's not yet thirteen…_ Her eyes met Alistair's.

"Let's go and teach these bastards a lesson," She said swiftly, feeling more like her old self now than she had in what seemed like a long time.

Her companions were with her and she threw open the door to the outside without ceremony. The clouds had rolled in with a vengeance now and a fine mist settled over the city, but the guards watching the courtyard between the apartments and warehouses were alert and the one in charge eyed them coolly.

"'Oo the 'ell are ya?" He demanded and the archers behind him were prepping themselves without a signal, "Ya aren' any o'the Tevinters."

"Let's just say we're your atonement," Alistair offered and Leliana struck first.

The fight was intense and over before it started. Morrigan utilized that incredible blast of power that was so devastating to those hit by it and Leliana's bow hardly, if ever, missed its targets. Oghren took down the last warrior and Zevran lifted the keys from the lead guard and opened the way forward. The warehouse was dim and while they waited for their eyes to adjust, a new voice spoke.

"A new shipment already?" It was a female Elf, her dark hair pulled back at the sides and clever, pale brown eyes going over the party. There was a bow and quiver full of arrows hanging at her back and her voice held traces of a foreign accent. She came close and looked at them more fully and then frowned, "Or perhaps not. What is this?"

Ffion drew herself up, feeling her back protest and allowing her anger to be stronger than her pain. Loghain couldn't keep getting away with this and she was determined to put a stop to it. And Alistair was with her, every inch of the way. He tossed the rough little doll to the Elf and spoke before Ffion could.

"We're shutting you down," He said coldly, "These are people, not property. This is wrong and Ferelden will not condone it any longer."

The Elf looked at the doll and then dropped it disdainfully in a move that encompassed her view on slavery. She waved one hand to the seven guards with her and laughed coldly.

"Ferelden has been funding our trade for months," She answered and reached for her bow, "You are just the latest casualties in cause of idealism. _This_ is the reality that everyone will be living."

"Not quite," Leliana put in and a guard was dropped by one of her silver darts.

The Elf stood back and fired from a distance as her warriors moved in. Wynne kept busy protecting them from the ranged attack and Sten hurled his body forward, taking an arrow to the shoulder and decapitating the Elf. Alistair, Zevran, and Oghren made quick work of the rest of the warriors and Wynne saw to the Qunari's shoulder. It wasn't too serious, but the Elf had dipped the heads in poison and there was a tense moment before Wynne found the right potion to counter it. Sten sighed in relief after he downed the potion and met Ffion's gaze as she frowned at him.

"We can-"

"I am fine, kadan," He interrupted and led the way to the next door, "The wound is no longer burning and I cannot feel the poison coursing through me anymore."

"Tha' may mean yer gonna drop any secon'," Oghren put in helpfully as they entered another long corridor so narrow that they were forced to shift to pairs.

"Thanks, Oghren, that really sets my mind at ease," Ffion said dryly as she fell in beside him and behind Sten and Alistair.

"Anythin' ta help, boss," He grinned.

"Don't fret, dove," Zevran's voice was easy and light and he let Tilly moved closer to her lady as they approached another door, "Our Wynne hasn't failed us yet and I don't believe we will see the day where she would."

Wynne chuckled as Alistair opened the door to reveal a barrack-like room with a few sets of bunks. Her pale blue eyes were lively despite the wariness that the empty room brought about.

"It is nice to know there is no added pressure," She said as wryly as Ffion and then the next door was open and the sight of this last room brought all light-hearted conversation and teasing to a halt.

They stood on a raised portion of the room, overlooking the larger area below. Two more cages were situated at the far end of the room, both packed with Elves, and on either side of where the companions stood two short staircases led down towards the cages.

"Ah, so here they are," The new voice drew their attention to the mage that stood in the middle of the floor below and the company of men that he had with him. His accent was thicker than the Elf's and rather interesting, "I see that one is even the young would-be king that everyone has made such a fuss about. So the sweet girl with him must be the Warden. I was thinking that you would be taller."

"And I do hate to disappoint," Ffion's back was beginning to hurt again and it merely brought out her old irreverence. The distraction of being with her companions and going out on a new adventure had been fading for some time now and she wanted to be done with all of this; she was so tired of being deceived and lied to.

"Now, now, dear Warden," The mage scolded with a cold charm that sent shivers down Ffion's spine, "We both know that sarcasm is beyond us, right? Of course we do. I have a more interesting proposition for you… a deal if you prefer."

Ffion's hands curled into fists and she physically bit her tongue to keep from blurting the words on her lips. Her gaze felt cold even to her as she stared at the mage.

"I don't, but go ahead."

The brows arched up over the severe brown eyes and the mage's bald head gleamed in the flickering torchlight as he paced a little closer to the ledge that the companions were perched on.

"You are here for proof that Loghain is involved in this lucrative trade," He began and ignored the way that Wynne and Alistair bristled at his wording, "I can give you this… for a price. A hundred sovereigns and all the letters and documentation that have come to me through the regent are yours. And I am left out of it. I will take my current shipment and disappear and you have my word that Ferelden will be free of me and my men."

Ffion's brows had inched up with every word that he said and they were in danger of disappearing into her hair. She glanced around at her companions and saw that they were all nearly as surprised as she was. Alistair looked at the mage in disgust.

"We aren't actually considering this, are we? It feels… dirty."

"An' not in a good way," Oghren agreed and his voice sounded uncomfortable.

"Why play a part in this when we can get the letters on our own terms?" Leliana demanded and she altered the gauntlet that hid those dangerous silver darts.

Ffion agreed with all of them and Wynne was shielding them with her magic as she answered the mage.

"New deal, because I agree with Leliana: we kill you and take everything for free."

The guards were inching toward the stairs and the mage reached for his staff with a disappointed sigh.

"And more sarcasm," He observed as a rather inhuman aura surrounded him, "Very well, we do this the hard way then."

Wynne's shield of magic held and Sten and Alistair skipped the stairs as they vaulted over the railing and to the floor below. Morrigan lashed out with her magic, grabbing three of the warriors and lifting them part-way into the air before slamming them back to the ground where they didn't move. Leliana covered Sten and Alistair as they tried to get to the mage and Zevran and Ffion both enveloped the warriors that were charging the steps in clouds of disorienting smoke. They stood back as Oghren barreled into the smoke, his axe blade slicing the air. This actually worked fairly well and those that weren't killed immediately didn't stand a chance against Ffion and Zevran as they followed in the Dwarf's wake with Tilly barking furiously behind them. Wynne and Morrigan stayed above, taking down more of the remaining warriors while Sten managed to break through the mage's defenses. The guards were now whittled down to eight and though they fought furiously, they were no match for the familiarity that months of fighting together had brought about in Ffion's party.

The Warden ducked around behind a warrior when he charged at her, dealing a viscous backstab and knocking him into Oghren's path. She felt one of Leliana's arrows go whizzing by her ear and the second guard hurtling towards her was dropped. She whirled to face the room and was just in time to see the blade flash as the mage cut his own hand and drew the power of the blood to him. A moment later, Sten took a crimson bolt to the chest and it knocked him backwards, sending him to his knees and freezing him for a moment. Alistair was left on his own and he swung his sword at the distracted mage who reacted just as quickly. He released his hold on the Qunari, disappeared in a blinding flash, and then was in front of Ffion. She reacted too late and her swords clattered to the floor as the mage lashed out with his staff and then had her about the throat with his bloody hand. Her back hit the wall behind them as the mage squeezed hard and she choked, swinging her hands at his face, trying to connect with anything that would help her. The mage was unfazed; he merely tightened his hold and the Warden felt the power when he shielded them from her frantic companions. She could hear the blood rushing through her ears as she fought for the breath that was being deprived from her and her fingers fumbled at his grip while black spots started dancing in her eyes. That familiar dark oblivion swirled about her and her hand fell from his and the next thing she saw was a flash of impossibly long, hairy black legs. Too many legs. The hold on her throat loosened and then disappeared and the Warden's legs gave out. She fell to the floor in a heap, gasping for breath and feeling pinpricks with each blessed lungful of air. Tilly was pressing close, her whining still frantic and her wet nose cold. Ffion felt Wynne's healing magic spreading through her with its comforting warmth, but it didn't have its usual potency and it took a minute before she could sit up.

Alistair helped with that. He dropped to his knees beside her, his still bloody sword clattering down beside hers and his touch tender when he reached for her. He slid one arm around her shoulders, bending close so that he could help her up. She clung to him, wincing at the pain in her throat. It felt like it was five times too big and it hurt too much to pull away from Tilly when the Mabari pressed close to lick her cheek.

"You okay?" Alistair was still out of breath from the fight and that overwhelming fear that had taken hold when the mage grabbed Ffion was slowly ebbing, "I'm sorry, I should have had him. It just- it happened so fast and I-"

She held up one hand to stop him and glanced up at the others as they came close. Wynne was leaning on her staff, her face drawn and Morrigan was back in her original form. Oghren purposefully kicked and then stepped on the mage's body when he approached with Leliana; and Zevran looked so concerned that the Warden forced a reassuring smile in spite of the pain. The peaked look on Sten's face concerned her, but the Qunari was standing straight and proud and he shook his head at her.

"I'm… I'm fine," She told them hoarsely and winced at the burning pain, "Let's finish this."

She got to her feet with Alistair's help and Wynne meant to cast again, but Ffion waved her off. The healing took too much from the Enchanter and that wasn't what she needed now. The Warden stood under her own power and went to the first cage, picking the lock easily and hearing Zevran work at the other. The Elves stepped from the cages with expressions of deepest gratitude and one stepped forward, giving Ffion a little bow.

"You have our undying gratitude, Warden," He said and straightened. His near white hair hung just above his shoulders and his grey eyes held an ancient intelligence. They warmed as they locked with Ffion's and he added, "The Alienage is in your debt and if the need should arise, the Wardens will have our support. The Maker guide and bless you."

"Wait," She implored, holding up a hand, "Is Lara here?"

The Elder gave her a surprised look and then reached back with one hand to tug a young Elf forward. The blonde hair was almost white and her enormous blue eyes looked up at the Warden with something like reverence.

"Your mother and father are safe, child," Ffion told her and kept her voice to a near whisper. It hurt too much to try anything more, "They escaped, too."

The girl began crying with happiness and she stepped closer, giving Ffion a brief hug and then taking the Elder's hand and leading the way from the room. The Warden saw with an uneasy twinge that Lara had pulled back with a small smear of blood in that blonde hair and she glanced down at herself. The blood wasn't hers and as Leliana crouched to rifle through the mage's belongings, Wynne moved to Ffion's elbow.

"He got it everywhere, didn't he?" The Warden asked wryly.

The Enchanter whisked the blood away with a simple wave of her staff and then tried the healing once more. Ffion felt a little burst of strength and then it dispersed. Wynne frowned and glanced at her staff in confusion.

"There seems to have been something in his magic, Ffion," She said, "I can't think why else my spell won't work."

"Then save your strength," The Warden answered with a dismissive wave and wished her voice hadn't failed right then; the Enchanter could look so foreboding when she wished, "I'm not in danger of dying and you need to worry about yourself every now and then."

"We have what we need, Ffion," Leliana cut in and smiled rather grimly, "Let us put this matter completely to rest."


	66. Chapter 66

**A/N: **Sorry about last week! This one is a little beefier than usual as a way to make up for it. Hope you enjoy! And of course Bioware owns all the rights to any quotes I lifted from the game itself. Take care, all!

* * *

They made their way back to the Alienage's square without trouble and the mist had become a full downpour. The crowds in front of the hospice had disappeared and the mages weren't in sight either. Oghren fell in beside Leliana as the Orlesian led the way out of the tall gates and back through the side streets towards the Arl's place. Zevran was following behind Alistair and Ffion who walked together and he was the only one to overhear the ex-Templar's words to his fellow Warden. Wynne had succeeded in getting Sten to converse with her and Morrigan listened to them with a rather bemused expression. Alistair knew that Zevran would eavesdrop, but there was nothing he could do about it and he needed Ffion's help in this.

"Ffion, I need to ask you something," He began hesitantly and saw how her eyes flickered with alarm. His breath caught for a moment as he realized that their conversation just that morning was still fresh in her mind and the rain did amazing things to her appearance: her cheeks were flushed, her eyes over-bright, and the curls that escaped the hood of the heavy cloak she had tossed around her shoulders were even more intense than usual… But then he came back to reality and felt Zevran's pointed gaze on the back of his head, "Do you ever think about the Fade and… and everything that happened there?"

She let out a breath and winced. In spite of her growing feelings for Alistair, she couldn't help the relief that swept through her at such a simple question from him. With the look in his eyes, she had thought that he was going to finish what had been started that morning, here, with everyone around.

"I try not to," She answered and her voice was still soft.

He smiled a little and gave her a nod.

"I can understand that," He agreed and then added more carefully, "Well, the reason I ask is because I… I thought you should know that Goldanna is not just a… just a wish or dream. She's real and I think I know where I might find her."

Ffion's expression was one of pleased surprise and her grey eyes fixed on his.

"That's wonderful, Alistair," She said and she gave him his smile, "Where is she? Here in Ferelden, I guess."

"Actually, here in Denerim, in the marketplace," He corrected and knew that they were approaching the market in their trek back to Eamon, "She's a laundress. I knew that she was around here somewhere, and when you and the others went into the hospice I overheard a couple of the Elves talking about a Goldanna that has been working with some of the young ladies from the Alienage, teaching them the skills they need to support themselves," He took a deep breath and got to his main point, "I'd like to meet her, but I don't think I can talk to her alone. Would you come with me? I want to meet her before… Never mind, I just want to meet her before everything ends."

The Warden's smile was gentle; the dimple just the barest shadow in her tired face and Alistair wished that he was finishing that confession. His honey eyes lit and Ffion spoke before he could.

"Of course, I'll come with you," She glanced around them and saw that they were skipping the main square of the marketplace now, using a lesser traveled alley and she stopped walking. Leliana knew without them making a sound and she frowned over her shoulder at them, "You all can report back to Eamon, let him know how things went and give him the mage's papers. Alistair and I have something we need to do."

Wynne's frown was the foreboding one and a crease appeared between Sten's brows. Zevran moved closer, his hand going to the crook of her arm.

"Let me come with you, pet," He said and then added when Alistair sent him a look, "Just to keep watch, in case someone decides to be silly, yes?"

"Whatever is decided let it be quick, yes? This rain, 'tis most unpleasant," Morrigan tugged her cloak closer and burrowed her raven head into the furred hood.

"There's no argument," Ffion answered, "Go on, Alistair and I will be there in a minute. Tell Eamon there's nothing to worry about. And I suppose you'll come along no matter what, Zev, so I won't stop you."

Alistair and Ffion turned into the main square with Tilly and Zevran trailed them with a faux hurt expression.

"Not if you command it, my dear one," He purred, "I would not dream of crossing you."

"Flatterer," She muttered to him in an aside, her voice still doing its trick of strengthening and fading. Her throat was tender and it felt incredibly swollen, but she glanced up at Alistair adding briskly, "Where is Goldanna, Alistair? Let's see what your sister is like."

Alistair looked lost for a moment and they wandered further into the square to huddle under a canvas, protected from the rain. There was a young boy working a potion stand nearby and the ex-Templar leaned over the table to speak with him.

"I'm looking for the laundress Goldanna," He said, "Could you tell me which is her shop?"

The boy waved to a row of houses at the opposite end of the square and told Alistair that she lived and worked in the last apartment. The ex-Templar tossed him a few coins for his trouble and they crossed the square, tugging their cloaks against the rain. Zevran ducked around the building, finding shelter in a corner that was perfect for keeping a sharp look-out and Alistair paused with one hand on the door latch. His honey eyes studied the grain of the wood and he spoke to Ffion without looking at her.

"I don't think I can do this, Ffion," He said softly, "What if… what if it isn't her and I'm making a complete fool of myself?"

"And what if it is and you miss an opportunity to have a meaningful relationship with a wonderful woman?" She returned and had to violently bury that creature that woke within her heart when the ex-Templar touched her that morning. His eyes were so tender they melted her from the inside-out and she couldn't concentrate when he looked at her like that. Brushing her fingers against his armored forearm, she added, "Don't turn back now."

He smiled down at her and wanted to touch her cheek, but instead he pulled open the door and stepped inside. The interior was clean and cramped with a row of tubs lining one wall and racks for drying across from them. There was shuffling from the back and a middle-aged woman appeared smiling amiably. She looked almost exactly like the Goldanna from the Fade, save being a little thinner, and Ffion wondered whether Alistair had seen her before or the powers that controlled the Fade worked much more thoroughly than any of them believed.

"Hey there," Goldanna greeted warmly, "Have ya washin' then?"

"Um, no," Alistair spoke abruptly, his nerves getting the better of him, "No, we're here about something else."

Goldanna's brown eyes narrowed a little.

"Is it 'bout the boys again? Alrigh' what'd they do now? I'll 'ave their 'ides if they're gettin' after the Alienage girls again."

"No, serah, it's nothing to do with your boys. I just- I…" Alistair's voice trailed away at Goldanna's confused frown and he glanced down at Ffion, strengthening again at her encouraging smile, "Is your mother Muirne Havveshire?"

Goldanna's frown deepened and her expression became suspicious. She folded her arms over her chest and glanced between the two before focusing on Alistair again.

"Aye, that's her name, but wha' of it? She's been dead fer nearly twenty-five 'ears now."

"She died shortly after giving birth to a son, right?" Alistair kept his tone level and polite, trying to tread carefully.

"How d'ya know that?" Goldanna demanded her voice fierce and a little frightened now.

Ffion thought fleetingly that he might be going about this the wrong way, but didn't have the chance to cut in.

"Well, because, and this might come as a shock, but I'm that boy."

Goldanna's lips parted and she eyed the ex-Templar, her face stormy with emotion. Her brown eyes went from suspicious and unsure to incensed in the matter of seconds and she took a half-step forward, her hands curling into fists.

"So 'ere ya are," She replied and her voice was very cold; there was nothing of the initial warmth and pleasantness, "Wha' in the Maker's name makes ya think I wan' anythin' to do with ya?"

Alistair's cheeks began burning and his face fell and Ffion bristled at the hopelessly crushed look that he gave Goldanna.

"He thought maybe a sister would be as happy to find her brother as he was to find her," She snapped and her voice was hoarse again.

"Wha's this? Word goes ou' yer the son of a king an' the tarts already linin' up?"

"Now wait a damn minute!" Alistair exclaimed, feeling the sting of the words probably more than Ffion did.

Goldanna ignored him and gave vent to feelings that had clearly been bottled for far too long.

"Yer beast of a father forced himself on my mother, he did. An' yer birth killed her; an' where did tha' leave me? With two sovereigns an' a swift boot to th' arse when I was kicked out o' the palace," Her bitterness was suddenly understandable and some of the anger left Alistair's face as he felt for his half-sister's plight, "Those sovereigns didn' last long and then wha' was I to do? I've go' five mouths to feed an' here ya come, flauntin' all yer power an' prestige in my face in the name of family. Well, ya can keep it to yerself an' get the hell outta my house."

Ffion's heart ached for Alistair and she wasn't willing to sit back silently while he was attacked so cruelly.

"Look, all he wanted was-"

"It's no use, Ffion," Alistair interrupted in a rather hollow voice, "It's clear all she wants is money so, here, and good riddance."

He dropped his money bag on one of the tables and then turned and shoved the door open without looking at Goldanna. Ffion sent the woman one last scathing glare and then trailed after the ex-Templar with Tilly on her heels. Alistair stood just inside the awning that stretched over the doors of the shops and stared glumly into the downpour. Silently blessing Zevran for his surprising show of tact, Ffion moved to Alistair's elbow and touched his arm gently.

"I know it's inadequate, but I'm so sorry, Alistair," She could hear the strength slowly coming back to her voice in spite of the pinpricks that stabbed in and out of her throat, "This will be her loss. Please, don't start believing it's any shortcoming on your part. This is just one of those times where reality comes through crystal clear: people will look after their own well-being and damn anyone who steps on their toes. I guess it's a lesson everyone learns at some point."

The ex-Templar thought about that for a moment and knew she was right. He had deceived himself into thinking that Goldanna would have no hard feelings about the circumstances of his birth and just be happy to meet him. And he was proved very wrong, but it wasn't anger that coursed through him, it was sadness. He had been taken care of from the time he was a baby, loved and looked after, and here his half-sister had been kicked out of the only home she knew, as an orphan. How could there be anything but hard feelings? Ffion's fingers pressed between his armor, squeezing his elbow, bringing him back to reality, and he smiled down at her. His heart thrilled at the soft grey eyes, the unruly curls that refused to stay tucked away, and the upturned corners of her full mouth. He also saw the beginnings of what would be ugly bruising around her slender neck and he reached with one hand before he could help it. Brushing her cheek tenderly and ecstatic when she didn't pull away, he answered her.

"I know, but it's a damn hard lesson," His voice was husky as he pressed his palm to her cheek, "And thank you, Ffion, you have no idea what your presence here means. I couldn't have done this without you."

"Sister in the taint," She replied and failed miserably in bringing back their old irrelevancy.

"And so much more."

There were promises in his voice that shouldn't be made and Ffion was both relieved and disappointed when Zevran chose that moment to interrupt them.

"So, successful?" He asked his voice bright as he stepped under the canvas with them, "Or, no, I see."

"Good or bad, I got my answer," Alistair answered bluntly as he dropped his hand from Ffion's cheek.

"And now we return to our own family, yes?" The Elf observed and effortlessly managed what Ffion could not.

The irrelevance was back. But this only lasted as long as it took for them to return to Eamon's estate. There was an odd empty aura that they could feel even in the courtyard and when the front doors opened, Wynne stopped pacing abruptly and rushed to them.

"Praise Andraste, finally!" She exclaimed and shoved a potion into Ffion's hand before turning her attention to Alistair, "Eamon tried to hold things off and wait for you but wasn't given much choice. He, Teagan, and the rest have already gone and I told them that I would fill you in on our way."

"Care to do the filling in now, my dear," Zevran spoke calmly, knowing that this was the best method to keep Wynne calm as well.

"Loghain called for the nobles to convene and conveniently 'forgot' Eamon," The Enchanter threw her cloak around her shoulders and herded them out the door, "Clearly he's trying to set Eamon off-balance. Which means he knows he is in dire straits as far as the vote is concerned. But we must hurry."

And they did. They reached the great hall in the matter of a few rain soaked minutes and entered the building unchecked. It wasn't until they gathered in the entry and shed their sopping cloaks that they met any opposition.

"Warden; Alistair," A firm, familiar voice said and Cauthrien stepped from the shadows, "There is little surprise that things have come this far and if you were remotely worthy of claiming Maric's title, you would already be in the Landsmeet, wouldn't you? And you, Warden, you have never paused to consider why my lord Loghain is a hero to Ferelden. I will not step aside and allow you to destroy the sanctity of the Landsmeet with your foolish notions."

That motion for quiet was now second nature to Ffion and she did it so reflexively her companions hardly needed to see it. Her grey eyes were on Cauthrien and she was quick to see that even this battle-hardened, loyal-to-the-end warrior was at her wits' end and clinging to a barely held belief.

"Serah Cauthrien, you can't stand here and tell me that this is the same man that saved Ferelden all those years ago," She said gently, "The changes in his nature must be painful, but can't be ignored. Do you really not see it?"

Cauthrien inhaled quickly and her gaze was rather frantic as it searched Ffion's face. It only took a moment for her to deflate and lose what little righteous anger had fueled her. She frowned, her face screwing up with pain as she realized what she was doing.

"I have had… so many doubts lately," She answered slowly, "Loghain is still a great man, but he has allowed his hatred of Orlais… anything possibly resembling a threat to himself or his nation to twist his mind and consume him. You cannot ask me to betray him. I owe him everything and I can't step aside, Warden, I can't… please…"

"Then let us do the right thing, serah," Ffion softened her voice and didn't drop her gaze from the warrior's, "Let us stop him before anymore damage can be done."

The woman's face twisted even more and then she gave a slow nod.

"I never… Duty can taste so bitter. This wasn't supposed to… Very well, Warden, stop him before he destroys… betrays everything he once loved. But remember this one thing: without Loghain there would be no Ferelden to defend."

"…a puppet on the throne and only fools cannot see this. The question we must ask is this: Who will be pulling the strings?"

Those nobles standing between Ffion and Loghain suddenly pulled back as they realized she was pushing by them and she had a clear view of the general the same moment that he had one of her. His grey-blue eyes sparked with intense animosity but he kept the rather irreverent tone as he added,

"Ah! And here is the puppeteer herself!"

Ffion's brows went up and she found herself once more in eternal gratitude to Wynne as her throat felt much better and the niggling pain in her back disappeared. Her hair was dripping onto her armor and she knew they looked more or less like drowned rats, but she stood tall and proud and Loghain was the one that looked desperate as he kept pounding at her.

"Tell the nobles, Warden, if you would, just how the Orlesians will be taking over their lands once more. Are they going to send another battalion or will they merely rule over us through your would-be prince?"

Loghain stood just before the raised dais where the throne was perched and the two sets of double doors on either side of him hung open. Ffion continued until she stood level with where Eamon was and wondered briefly about Anora when she missed the queen's blonde head in the mix to her right. But the general's soldiers were barring her from coming any closer to Loghain and she stopped again, eyeing him with a disdain that made Sten and Morrigan both rather proud. The Warden was growing up.

"Orlesians, General?" She asked and her voice held the perfect note of indulgence, "Why don't we discuss the real threat here and decide how we're going to defeat the Blight? The Darkspawn are here, now, and the nobles are more concerned with their destruction than this imaginary threat you would have them act upon. The larger issue here is the Blight, don't dodge around it."

A new voice spoke up from the balcony and Ffion glanced at the pretty, hard-looking woman whose tone was very dry.

"There are enough refugees in our Bannorn now to attest to this."

Another noble spoke, this time a sandy haired man that was very familiar though Ffion couldn't place him at the moment.

"Alfstanna is right," He said, "The south has fallen, Loghain, this fear of Orlais is ridiculous. Are you really going to let our whole country be destroyed while you chase the wrong foes?"

Loghain's eyes flashed and his expression told them that he knew how thin the ice was that he walked, but he didn't let that slow his fight against Ffion.

"The Blight is a concern, Wulff, but my question is: Do we really need the Wardens to defeat it? We had a full contingency of them at Ostagar and they had asked to bring four legions of chevaliers. If we had allowed the chevaliers in, does anyone really think that they would have returned peacefully from whence they came? And besides, we all know how well that battle turned out."

There was a collective murmuring from the nobles gathered and Ffion couldn't let that blow go unanswered. She spared a quick glance up at her companions and was reassured by Morrigan's nod. She fixed her eyes on Loghain.

"You concern yourself with chevaliers, General, when you yourself have been consorting with the Tevinters and selling your own people to fund your war. My, my, what a convenient lapse of morality."

The outburst of murmuring was slightly louder this time and Loghain's glare was more intense than ever. Ffion's voice, still rather hoarse, didn't need much to carry to the others and they caught her meaning with ease.

"What's this?" A third noble demanded and his blue eyes fixed on Loghain, "Explain yourself, General."

Loghain glared at Ffion for a moment longer and then transferred to the noble. He gave the impression that he was doing some very quick thinking.

"The Alienage is lost to us," He said slowly, "The Elves have not been able to recover from the riots and there is rot among them. There is no chance to hold the place if the Blight extends this far," His eyes went back to the Warden and his armor gleamed in the light as he shrugged his shoulders, "Despite what you might think, Warden, I haven't strayed from my duty. Whatever I feel for the Elves, I did what was best for Ferelden."

"'Best for Ferelden?'" She repeated and her animosity matched his. She wasn't about to go into Howe's sins, but she had other ammunition, "Kind of like sending an apostate to poison Arl Eamon when we all know that he's integral to Ferelden succeeding in this battle against the Blight?"

For once in her life, Ffion was genuinely happy that she had trouble keeping out of things that were not her business. Loghain was nearly apoplectic for a moment and then he had himself under control.

"I assure you, Warden," He spat her title and clearly only used it because he wasn't willing to stoop lower than she, and she hadn't dropped her politeness yet, "If I wished to dispatch someone I would send my own soldiers to do so."

"Is that so, Loghain?" Alfstanna's voice was as cold as the general's and he blanched a little when she spoke, "My brother tells a very different story. It seems that he was escorting a blood mage that was plucked from the Chantry's justice, at the regent's command. A blood mage that matches the description of the mage Eamon currently has in custody in Redcliffe due to a recent poisoning. Is this mere coincidence?"

"If there is truth to this claim, Teyrn Loghain, don't think that the Chantry will turn a blind eye," An elderly woman garbed in Chantry robes warned, "The Maker does not take lightly to the tampering of his Templars' work either."

Loghain came close to wincing at this and then he straightened his shoulders.

"Whatever my sins, I will answer for them later," He said in a thoughtful voice, "I have only a few questions for the Warden and the first concerns the Teyrn Howe. Does the assembly know that you sneaked into his home and cut him down in cold blood? Or was that glossed over as part of your miraculous escape from Fort Drakon?"

Zevran wished with all his might it was up to him to keep that chasm from looming and even as Ffion's face grew pale, Eamon was cutting in.

"Howe was no saint, Loghain, and most of those gathered know this," His voice echoed in the hall, cold and severe, "Whatever befell Howe was his doing."

"That's abundantly clear," A new voice cried, "My boy nearly had his legs broken and he is still recovering now."

"And this is supposed to be believable from the girl-"

"Do you really think anything you say will negate the fact that you let Howe imprison and threaten your daughter?"

Alistair interrupted Loghain without realizing its importance and Ffion let out the breath she had unwittingly inhaled and held. She would have laughed at this strange twist in her affairs if the repercussions here were not so serious. Here was Alistair, wanting her in more ways than one, wanting to know everything about her, interrupting the man that nearly blew her cover and never being the wiser; never knowing how close he had just come to finding out about this girl he was falling for. And then Loghain jumped at the new track Alistair opened for him and Ffion came crashing back to reality.

"And where is my daughter?" He demanded his blue-grey eyes even fiercer, "The rumors claim that she has taken refuge with Eamon and the Warden, but how do we know this to be the truth? I don't see Anora here. Are we to simply assume that she wasn't killed with Teyrn Howe? What-"

"I believe I can answer that."

Ffion relaxed a little and stopped biting her tongue. If Anora hadn't interrupted Loghain, she would have screamed. She couldn't take hearing her father's title preceding that bastard's name and would snap if it happened again. The attention of the room transferred to Anora as she entered behind her father. She walked stately, proudly, like a queen, and she gave the impression that she had been waiting to make the most dramatic entry.

"Good lords and ladies, hear me," She continued and her voice carried through the hall, "My father is no longer the man of old. He is no longer the Hero of River Dane. It pains me to say these things, but my father has allowed his unfounded fear of Orlais consume him and cloud his mind. He… is no longer fit to rule."

While most every eye was on Anora, Ffion didn't look away from Loghain. He was listening to his daughter's words, growing paler with each syllable and the Warden was the only one to see this. His face lined more deeply and he suddenly looked quite old. Ffion felt a little burst of pity at the lost look that flashed in his eyes before he turned to face Anora. He looked exactly how she felt after that night in Highever and she shook herself mentally as Anora went on.

"This man before you pulled his troops from Ostagar when Cailan needed them," Anora's voice was still strong even with her father now facing her, "And he left our king… my husband, to those monsters. This was not an action made by the man you and I remember. This man seized the king's throne before the ashes of Ostagar were cold and then locked me away so that I could not reveal his treachery. I myself would have been… betrayed and… and killed if not for the Warden's interference."

Anora's voice faltered and though she met Loghain's gaze squarely, she looked very young for a moment. Alistair moved a little ahead of Ffion and his honey eyes were lit with that new fire. He wasn't going to let his fellow Warden take any more heat for him and he was the next to speak.

"The queen is right," He said in a strong voice, "Loghain can no longer retain the regency."

Loghain stared hard at Anora, seeming to ignore Alistair's words, and then he let out a pained breath.

"So they have even turned you against me, daughter. I had hoped to keep you from this and…" His voice was heavy and Anora paled but didn't look away from him. Her direct gaze bolstered him and he turned back to the nobles abruptly, still fighting but realizing now just how quickly the walls were closing in on him, "Lords and ladies, our lands have been threatened before and we Fereldens have always held firm against our enemies. This will not become the exception to that rule! We must not be divided now! Stand with me and we shall defeat the Blight itself!"

Ffion's lips parted to snap back, but Alistair motioned with one hand and the Warden was surprised to find that this was Loghain's way of forcing the vote. She glanced around the room quickly, seeing how many pairs of eyes studied her as though measuring her against the general; and she straightened her shoulders, pulling her nobility around her and recognizing this moment as one to exploit her mother's training to its fullest. There were quiet murmurings for a moment and then one of the lords spoke.

"Well, someone has to start the chaos," He said in a dry voice and then more loudly, "The Wardens! I support the Wardens!"

It was the son of the true Arl of Denerim that spoke and his blue eyes glittered maliciously when they landed on Loghain. After his words, it seemed a free-for-all.

"Waking Sea stands with the Wardens!" Alfstanna called.

"I am with Loghain! We have no hope of succeeding otherwise," The noble's voice shook and Alistair wondered, perhaps unkindly, how badly Loghain and Howe had bullied him.

"Dragon's Peak is for the Wardens!"

"South Reach supports the Wardens!"

"The Western Hills throw their lot in with the Wardens! Maker preserve us all," Wulff's harsh voice called the final death knoll for Loghain's victory and his heartfelt petition brought a grim silence.

Ffion felt warm relief flood her and she let out a quiet sigh as Alistair nodded to Eamon and straightened his shoulders. He took another step towards the general, his head held high, and a little rush of pride went through Ffion. He had become Maric's heir.

"The Landsmeet has spoken," The ex-Templar said firmly, "Stand down peacefully, General."

Loghain's eyes flickered briefly at Alistair's polite, correct use of his title. His face appeared to age even more, but he wasn't finished yet. He grabbed hold of his anger and went on the defensive.

"Traitors!" He snarled and Ffion was worried that he would completely ignore the outcome of the vote and the fact that her companions would spring into action, and attack Alistair then and there, "How many of you stood with me when the Orlesians invaded our lands, burned our homes; raped our wives, killed our children?!" He whirled in a bright flash of gleaming armor and glared up at Eamon, "You fought with us, Eamon, you know what it all meant to us. Or you used to before you got too content and complacent, and now you have no idea of the risks you take making this choice," When Eamon refused to rise to the bait, Loghain faced the Wardens again, "None of you deserve to make this decision! None of you have bled and sacrificed for this country in the way that I have! You don't get to sit judgement on me!"

A tense silence fell over the great hall again and Alistair never dropped his gaze from the general's. Loghain's breathing was harsh, his face tinted red with fury, and he looked for all the world like a child who had just had his favorite toy taken away; not like one of Ferelden's greatest leaders. The ex-Templar felt pity course through him, but he stilled it before it could have an effect on the decision he had just made. And the fear that followed almost did that for him. He squared his shoulders and lifted his head again and tried to ignore the heat from Ffion's sudden look.

"If you are refusing to acknowledge the Landsmeet's vote, then pull your men back and let's settle this issue once and for all," His voice came out as sure and strong as Loghain's had been rather petulant and he refused to look away as murmurings and exclamations broke out all around him.

Ffion's grey eyes went wide and she gaped at Alistair. She wondered if those words really meant what they implied and decided they had to when Loghain's eyes lit with a desperate sort of hope. She turned to the ex-Templar, not sure what she was going to say and not able to let that go without an argument.

"Please," Was all she could manage.

Zevran stepped up to press her arm and Loghain's voice drowned out her impassioned plea. Alistair's face hardened and it took everything within him to keep from looking down at her. There was so much in that simple little word and-

"Very well," Loghain's harsh tones cut through his thoughts, "We shall test the mettle of our would-be king. State the terms of the duel."

Ffion couldn't speak, her heart had taken up residence in her throat, and she could only listen while Alfstanna's clear voice rang out.

"The duel shall be fought according to tradition - a test of arms in single combat until one party yields. We of the Landsmeet shall honor the outcome."

Loghain eyed Alistair with an odd, rather haunted look.

"Maric once told me that a man is made by the quality of his enemies," He said and his voice had softened a little, "I'm not sure if that's a compliment to you or me… and either way, it doesn't matter. Prepare yourself, boy."


	67. Chapter 67

**A/N: **On time this week, hooray! And I'm going to try and give you all a Thanksgiving present, too (if I remember, that is!) Hope you enjoy and if I don't manage another posting, Happy Thanksgiving and all the best!

* * *

Loghain turned away, pausing briefly as Anora started forward. Their eyes locked for a moment and the queen looked very young again, but her father turned his back and went to the other doorway where Cauthrien stood. They put their heads together and Loghain had clearly drawn a line in the sand where Anora was concerned. The queen slowly made her way to Ffion's party as Eamon came down the steps and Alistair faced the others. His expression was set and rather pale, but the determination there gave them reason to hope.

"Alistair," Ffion began uncertainly and the hoarseness of her voice had very little to do with the Tevinter's attack.

A muscle jerked in his cheek and he knew his resolve would break the instant he looked down at her. So instead, he spoke to his uncle when he came level with them.

"He's not going to step down without a fight and I'm not about to let an all-out brawl take place here," He said stubbornly and ignored the way Oghren grumbled unhappily above him, "It'll be better this way."

"Of course, the worst that could happen is you will unravel all the hard work and sacrifices that have gotten you this far," Eamon's voice was sarcastic and sharper than they had ever heard it and then he softened a bit, sharing the concern written across Ffion's face. He continued carefully at first, not wanting Anora to hear any talk of drastic action against her father, but it was for naught. The queen bypassed them and went up the steps to stand with Erlina, her face still pale, "But I am proud of you, Alistair. And you're right; this is the only way to avoid excessive bloodshed. Anora's right, too, Loghain's not the man he was; he's not the fighter he was either. Use his girth against him, wear him out. You should know, he won't… he will not be willing to accept a simple surrender."

"This is news to none of us," Zevran offered, his heart twisting at the look Ffion gave the ex-Templar.

Loghain's armor clinked together as he crossed the room again and Alistair's face hardened. The nobles were retreating from the main floor, giving the duelists room, and Eamon clasped Alistair's shoulder, giving him a nod before going up the steps again. For the first time, Alistair looked down into Ffion's small open face and she stepped closer. Putting one hand on his wrist, she squeezed briefly and said quietly,

"Come back, Alistair. Please come back to… to us."

She finished that very carefully, but the tone of her voice and the look in her eyes told him what she really meant. And as Wynne and Zevran ushered her up the steps with Tilly and he faced Loghain, he felt invincible.

Which was a good thing, too. Loghain held his great sword already and it gleamed dangerously in the light of the great hall. Alistair settled his shield on his arm and unsheathed his own blade. The two of them paced, eyeing one another, and Loghain struck first. He hefted his sword and swung at the ex-Templar. Alistair ducked away and took his chance, swinging his shield arm around and clobbering the general's back. Loghain staggered a little and Alistair struck with his sword then, too, making him stumble further away. The crowd around them gasped as Loghain proved himself to be quicker on his feet than anyone would have believed. He rounded on the ex-Templar in a flash with a flurry of blows that kept Alistair strictly on the defensive. They backed towards the throne and Ffion found herself grabbing hold of Zevran's arm with one hand and the railing with the other so that she wouldn't reach for the knives that were calling to her.

Alistair, much more nimble than Loghain, finally ducked away, rolling across the floor and slashing his sword against the general's legs. He sprang to his feet as Loghain whirled with a roar of fury and slammed his shield up into the general's chest. Loghain was breathing raggedly, out of practice, and the blow winded him. He took a few faltering steps back and then rebounded, swinging his sword in huge arcs, hoping to catch the younger man in one of the rotations. But Alistair was much too quick. He simply darted away warily, watching Loghain's face for any sign of weakness. Eamon's advice had been sound; Loghain was wearing himself out, not being as spry as he once was. That didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. His experience had taught him tricks that took Alistair by surprise and the ex-Templar had a number of close calls that were avoided only because he was in better shape.

Loghain swung the sword again and Alistair side-stepped, but the general expected this. He moved with the ex-Templar and the sword caught Alistair's chest, slamming against the armor and rocking him backwards. Loghain followed through, stepping forward to make the blow count and Alistair's sword came up to parry. They were locked together, Alistair's shield arm pinched between their bodies and he reacted in the only way he could. He slammed his head against Loghain's and stunned the general… and himself, if he was being honest. But he recovered quickly, tearing his sword away from Loghain's and bashing the general's chest with his shield again. This time Loghain couldn't catch himself and he stumbled backwards, his sword slipping from his fingers. Alistair moved forward as though to finish him off and Loghain fell heavily to his knees, one hand rubbing at his head and his voice barely audible when he called out roughly.

"Enough," It was a hoarse whisper and he shook his head to clear it, "Enough!"

Alistair, breathing heavily and feeling an odd shakiness in his limbs, glared down at the general. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears and the adrenaline from the fight made the sudden little surge of anger even stronger. This was the man that had betrayed them when they needed him most, killing his son-in-law as surely as if he had become that ogre, leaving Ferelden soldiers to die on that hellish battlefield, and Duncan… The anger was hot, becoming a burning fury and obliterating everything else in his head. If not for the man kneeling before him, he would never have lost his mentor; they would never have been put on this desperate, sometimes hopeless path. He thought of Redcliffe and the losses there; almost losing his uncle and the gut-wrenching doubt surrounding his little cousin's fate… There was so much that never needed to happen and when Eamon shifted his weight above him, Alistair glared up at the nobles.

"No," Anora said breathlessly, grasping the railing and reading Alistair's face more quickly than any of them.

Alistair ignored her and looked back down at Loghain who met his gaze squarely and knew how this was going to end. His eyes were clear; there was no disillusionment in his face as he listened to Alistair's words.

"You know that your actions can't go unpunished," The ex-Templar's voice was hard, "We can't let these things slide."

"No, you can't," Loghain's breathing was still a little ragged and he looked up at Alistair with a new respect, "It seems I was wrong about you, boy, you really are Maric's son. And you have his spirit. Maybe… But it's unimportant. Make it quick."

Alistair's anger flared again and he stepped back, hefting his sword. Anora let out a harsh breath that was very loud in the suddenly still hall.

"You're still my little daughter, Anora," Loghain told her roughly, "To a father, daughters never grow up. They remain little whirlwinds with pigtails and skinned knees forever. You'll always be that, my dear."

Ffion's heart wrenched within her at Anora's crest-fallen expression and before anyone could say another word, Alistair raised his sword again.

"Forget Maric," He said softly, "_This_ is for Duncan."

He mercifully made it quick. He swung the blade with all his might and severed Loghain's head from his body. The general had closed his eyes and so never saw the glint of the steel as it arced down. Silence hung heavily over the hall and Anora was too shocked for tears as her father's body hit the floor, blood pouring thickly across the stones. She had reached out and grabbed hold of Ffion's hand without realizing it and the Warden winced as the queen's fingers squeezed hard. Anora swayed briefly and Eamon stepped to her other side to keep her from falling over. He thought for a moment that she was going to rail against Alistair but she didn't. She knew it would only work against her and she pulled her training to herself, held her head high, and retreated from their support. She knew as well as any of them that Loghain had had to pay for what he did and she also knew that this was the most merciful way for it to come about. If his fate had been left to the Ferelden people, they would have torn him apart. Quite literally.

"So it's decided," Eamon spoke into the silence, taking charge of the Landsmeet, "Alistair will take his father's throne."

"We've decided this?" Alistair repeated before he could help it, "So soon?"

"If Alistair is unwilling to take the throne, than I will," Anora's voice shook a bit, but she sprang at this opportunity and proved Eamon's warning about her true, "I am more than ready to step forward and rule."

Eamon glanced sidelong at her and then moved away, walking down the steps to join Alistair, Loghain's body sprawled before them. He looked around at the gathered nobility and then met Anora's direct gaze once more.

"I hardly think that you are the right person to mediate this dispute, highness," He said calmly and the blue eyes sought out Ffion's grey. The Warden stiffened and Eamon spoke before she could so much as shake her head at him, "Warden, would you step in here?"

Anora promptly turned about to stare at her and she felt rather than saw the hopeful, almost sheepish look Alistair sent her. She stifled the annoyed sigh that welled within her and then met Alistair's gaze, hoping to come off as thoughtful and impartial.

"Are you ready for this, Alistair?" She asked and though her voice was quiet, it seemed to reverberate around the hall.

Anora let out an angry hiss of breath and Ffion ignored her. They had never agreed on anything and Ffion had more than held up her end of their 'agreement.' She wasn't willing to let the queen throw a wrench into the works here and she didn't give her the chance.

"I can do this," The ex-Templar answered firmly, "Anora may know more about politics than I do, but I am ready and willing to lead us to victory in this Blight. And, to be honest, all _she_ wants is power."

"I-"

"So you're willing to take up Maric and Cailan's title? You'll follow in your father's steps?" Ffion interrupted Anora, raising her voice to drown her out.

There was another silence as Alistair thought that over thoroughly. His honey eyes looked beyond Ffion as he considered what this would mean to him personally and their company as a whole. It took him a moment and then his gaze met hers and he smiled softly. His determination in winning her over was more intense than ever and he shrugged off all of the other doubts. If he could keep her with him then he would be fine and that made his voice stronger when he replied.

"Ferelden needs a Theirin on the throne and I am going to give her that," He said and he straightened himself as Anora once more looked like she would interrupt, "Which is to say… Yes, I'm ready."

Ffion felt that same little thrill of pride and she ignored the poisoned glare Anora gave her. She met Eamon's gaze and inclined her head to him.

"Then let it be that Alistair step forward as king," She said and turned partially to Anora, knowing the queen would not like this.

Eamon kept the smile from his face, but only just. He faced Anora as well and wondered what was hidden behind those intense blue eyes. She pressed her lips together and glared at the Warden but had refrained from saying anything, so far.

"The Landsmeet has spoken, Anora," Eamon told her, bringing the attention back to what was to be decided, "You must now swear fealty to our new king and relinquish all claims to the throne."

Anora pushed away from the railing and then shoved her way through Ffion's companions to the stairs. She descended these, her eyes on Eamon, and she was still striving to come off as Ferelden's benevolent queen when she spoke.

"With all due respect, Arl Eamon," She said and her voice was cold, "If you think that I will be taking that oath, you know nothing of me."

The Arl let out an impatient sigh.

"Anora, be reasonable," He said mildly.

"Reason clearly left this Landsmeet when the Warden spoke," Anora replied in a biting tone, "I cannot step aside so meekly."

Eamon's eyes flashed a little and his voice became sharp again.

"We can't leave Ferelden in a state of civil war," He glanced up at Ffion briefly and then continued, "If she will not swear fealty to you, Alistair, then she is a threat to our unity. What would you have us do?"

"Lock her in the tower," Alistair's response was prompt, "Keep her safe and well so that if I don't survive the Blight, Ferelden will still have a ruler."

Anora turned her attention to Alistair for the first time and her look was one of surprised pleasure.

"You would give me the throne?" She asked, "After all of this?"

"I said if I don't survive the Blight, Anora," Alistair replied ruefully, "Don't let your eyes get bigger than your stomach. For now, you'll be in the tower, under careful watch, until we resolve this."

Anora searched his gaze and then nodded. The guards hesitated for a moment, glancing quickly at Cauthrien, who knew her place and didn't direct them. Alistair waved at them and Anora took a step back.

"Thank you, Alistair," Her voice was quiet and impressed in spite of herself, "I do not think that I could show you such mercy if our roles were reversed."

"Well, don't get used to it. And don't spread the word; I have a reputation to uphold."

Eamon spoke before Alistair could continue, though the scattered chuckles these words incited were rather encouraging.

"Well, then, we're decided. Guards! Take the queen to the tower. Gently, if you please, and see that she has what she needs to make her comfortable."

The guards stepped in and escorted Anora away while Ffion and the rest of the companions descended the stairs and Eamon turned his attention back to Alistair.

"Will you address the Landsmeet, highness?" He said and his blue eyes fixed on Alistair.

He blinked at his uncle and then nodded, moving forward.

"Right, um… I never knew my father, but from what I have learned, he never hesitated in his campaign to keep Ferelden safe from her enemies," Alistair spoke hesitantly and then his voice gained strength, "When the Blight has been defeated I will return to Denerim and take up my responsibilities as king; until then Arl Eamon will rule as my regent. And, if she will accept the charge, I ask my fellow Warden to lead my armies," He turned to look at Ffion, who was staring at him with wide grey eyes and flushed cheeks, "Shall we finish this together?"

The Warden blinked again, astonished at this sudden change in the ex-Templar. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but it definitely hadn't been this, and she gave herself a mental shake before answering.

"I accept, Al- highness, and yes, let's end this."

A smile graced his lips that made her blush deepen and it took everything within him to face the room again.

"Then we shall stand together," He told the nobles, "We will need our combined strength to end the Blight once and for all and I know that you will join me to protect this land we love! Let's be united now and take the fight to the Archdemon!"

The room exploded with applause and Alistair had come completely into his own. Ffion's head was whirling with the suddenness of everything and they only lingered long enough in the hall to oversee the removal of Loghain's body and the cleaning up of the blood. Furthering the support of both his allies and enemies, Alistair directed that the general be given formal funeral rites and though they did not attend, they heard later that the ceremony was pulled off beautifully. They returned to Eamon's estate and Alistair was determined to talk to Ffion about their future, together, in spite of the rain and absence of victory over the Darkspawn. But fate had other plans.

Jess met them at the doors, smiling widely and having eyes only for Ffion. Her face alight with pleasure, she shared the good news. Gilmore had finally opened his eyes and asked for Ffion. The Warden's heart skipped several beats and she grabbed Zevran's hand briefly before she smiled beatifically and flew to Gilmore's room. Wynne joined her and she only took long enough to look the young man over and give him greater odds than he had had before, and then she left the two of them alone. Ffion sat beside Gilmore's bed for hours, her hands wrapped around one of his, as they talked and Zevran, unable to keep from pacing by the door, had never seen her happier.

Eamon, Alistair, and Teagan meanwhile had decided to leave for Redcliffe first thing the next morning. Ffion's hard-won allies were converging there already and it was Alistair's call to leave a contingent of soldiers at Denerim and meet the bulk of the army at the village. When Ffion heard this idea, she was all for it and her only contention was that Gilmore be taken to Redcliffe as well. Neither Eamon nor Alistair had the heart to argue with her and so a wagon was arranged and a few horses that were no longer needed were donated to this. And so, with one new king and a long lost friend added to the ranks, they left Denerim to gather Ffion's army and take the fight to the Archdemon.

* * *

None of the companions were able to extract Ffion from Gilmore's side and Alistair would be lying if he claimed it didn't bother him. The jealousy that reared its ugly head was more intense than it had ever been with Zevran and he couldn't even afford the luxury of traveling with his fellow Warden like the Elf did. Teagan and Eamon kept him very busy with plans for the future and his only moments of peace came when he slept. But in all honesty, he couldn't fault Ffion for this. She had told him that Gilmore was one of her dearest friends and she had believed he was dead. Wouldn't he be wild with joy to find a long lost friend and forget about the outside world while they caught up? So in the absence of talking with her, he found himself slipping into the old pattern and watching her intently.

Ffion was never the wiser. She couldn't let Gilmore out of her sight and though his strength seemed to disappear alarmingly fast during their conversations, she was more than content to walk alongside the wagon in companionable silence. Her companions, save Alistair, all gathered around as well and seemed to prefer walking with the wagon to shuffling along with Eamon's contingent. She missed the ex-Templar's presence and though there was a daily fear that Gilmore would let something slip about Highever and her parents, Eamon kept Alistair busy. The change in him still shocked her and she saw new facets of it each day. He stepped into this role more thoroughly than they had ever thought he would and was becoming more and more like his father. The Warden finally spoke to Gilmore about keeping her heritage secret and though he didn't quite understand her reasoning, especially now that Howe was dead, he promised his silence.

For himself, Gilmore was struck at the changes in his old friend. For the most part, she had remained blunt, honest little Ffion, but her grey eyes held a new callousness that this life had brought about. Not that he was surprised. He knew what had happened at Highever and those succeeding months had changed them forever. They would never go back to 'Rick and Fi' as it had been when they were young; their jokes were tempered with a steel that wasn't there before; and their smiles were those grim ones intimately familiar with pain and heartache. But then the Dwarf or Zevran would repeat a crude joke to Ffion and she would light up completely, and it did Gilmore's heart good to see this. She still had the irreverent sense of humor and trait of blurting whatever entered her head and these told him that his old friend, his Fi, was still beneath this hard shell that she had grown. And sometimes he could believe that he was too. Though his pain was ever present and the cough still rattled him in a discouraging way.

The Enchanter was wonderful to have around when this occurred and she looked after everyone with a maternal fondness that reminded him painfully of Eleanor. As for the other companions: the witch ignored him and so he returned the favor even though her beauty made that rather difficult. Sten treated him with some indifference after being introduced and the way the Qunari looked after Ffion amused him. He was just so huge and he dwarfed her entirely when they scouted together; with Tilly in tow of course. The Mabari had been almost as happy as Ffion to see him and he had missed the chestnut hound. Leliana was friendly and open; the same with Oghren. The Orlesian was delighted to learn that Gilmore had a memory for the stories from his childhood and Oghren's quips and jokes were returned with equally lewd ones that won the Dwarf over without trouble. It was the last two companions that Gilmore wasn't sure of. Zevran came off as charming and friendly, but he was too smooth. His suavity rubbed Gilmore the wrong way, never mind that he treated Ffion like she was made of glass and seemed bent on keeping the Warden happy. It was on the third day of their travels before the realization hit Gilmore like a lightning bolt. He felt poorly that day and Ffion knew this and while Wynne fussed over him, Zevran leaned close to the Warden and began whispering in her ear. It was clearly a learned practice and Ffion sent the Elf a wary look before smiling and then laughing at whatever he had told her. She shoved his shoulder in the way that Gilmore remembered her doing to him and scolded him for being crass. Zevran's face lit up much in the same way that Ffion's had and when she turned away, Gilmore was the only one to see that odd half-pleased, half-crushed look the Elf gave her. It hit him then that Zevran was in love with his friend and he didn't look away in time to avoid the strange amber eyes. As usual, the Elf could read his face expertly and he glanced quickly at Ffion's back before shrugging comically at the young man and giving him a small shake of the head. Nothing needed to be said and Gilmore felt an odd pang of regret for the Elf. And then Ffion moved to him and he wasn't given the chance to consider this. Alistair, meanwhile… While Zevran hid his feelings flawlessly, it was obvious to everyone that Alistair was completely smitten with Ffion. Well, obvious to all except the girl herself. She clearly knew that he cared for her, but she was unaware of just how much. Alistair stood closer than he needed to when they spoke and his honey eyes fixed on her face as though he was afraid he would miss something if he so much as glanced away. On her part, Ffion didn't let him catch her completely alone and she would flush with annoyance and something like pleasure when Leliana poked fun at her about it. The Orlesian didn't do so maliciously and Gilmore thought that it was done in the same fashion that Zevran's jokes were used. They were trying to keep Ffion distracted and he couldn't help but wonder why.

The Warden hadn't told him the details of Howe's death and she hadn't planned on it either. Not anytime soon, anyway. She was so happy to have him at her side again and she wasn't willing to let that story shadow it.

The roads back to Redcliffe were rife with Darkspawn, but it wasn't ever overwhelming. The only time there was a concern for the wagon was when an ogre happened to be present. But Ffion's companions had been together long enough that they knew where each other were on the battlefield and Eamon's soldiers were skilled fighters. Riordan had asked to travel with them and his experience was a great boon to Ffion and Alistair. He was a wealth of information and more often than not, Ffion sought out his company when they camped for the night. She didn't have too much to worry about as leader of the armies just yet and her curiousity about the fate of the Wardens was stronger than ever. And Riordan was pleased to answer her questions.

"It is impossible to say how many Wardens are left in Ferelden," He said as they settled by one of two fires built for the night. He crouched and stared into the flames as Ffion sat against a log with Tilly sprawled beside her. Sten and Oghren, under the careful watch of Wynne, helped Gilmore sit beside Ffion and his shoulder bumped her own as he shifted to a more comfortable position. Zevran perched on the log at Ffion's other side, his legs stretched over Tilly's heavy body. Leliana had taken up her harp and was strumming quietly while Morrigan sat silent and thoughtful, and Alistair broke from Eamon and Teagan and dropped beside Riordan, "After the disaster at Ostagar, I cannot say how many were able to escape as you and Alistair did. Which is why it was such a blessing to have those papers returned to us. To get a full count of the Wardens as a whole, one would need to travel to Weisshaupt and consult the registers there."

"Have you ever been to Weisshaupt?" Ffion asked and smiled at Zevran when he handed her a flask of wine. She immediately thought of the Fade and the deception within and the wine was a welcome distraction.

"Once, and very briefly," Riordan's voice was wry, "It was the middle of the winter and not the most welcoming place in the world. I have the strongest impressions of everything being cold and grey."

"A sharp contrast to lovely Orlais, no?" Leliana offered with a dimpling smile.

Riordan inclined his head to her, a small grin gracing his mouth and bringing about that stark change in his features. He looked so much younger when he smiled.

"Indeed," He replied, "Orlais is a place to be missed if it is winter here."

"Just the winter?" Alistair repeated and a grin started at the corners of his mouth, "You mean you don't mind the fall rains… and the spring rains… and the summer rains?"

"Bah, yer all daft," Oghren cut in while the others smiled, "Ya'll 'ave nothin' to grouse 'bout if ya were in Orzammar. We 'ave more important thin's to worry 'bout down there."

"Like who's going to win the next nug wrangling contest?" Gilmore spoke calmly and easily, his tone one that Ffion remembered well. He used to get away with way too much because he kept his voice to that caliber of unassuming sweetness.

Oghren let out a loud guffaw of laughter while the others grinned and Ffion pounced on the words.

"How in the Maker's name did I miss these nug references for so long?" She demanded.

This caused outright laughter from most of her companions and they spent the next few hours in lively discussion of just how vague nug references really were.


	68. Chapter 68

**A/N: **So I managed, yah! Right? Anyway, I really like the way this chapter turned out and I hope those of you who are completely devoted to the game storyline aren't too ticked off with the liberties that I took here. Enjoy!

* * *

As though Alistair's talk of Ferelden rains held magic, the heavens opened the next morning and unleashed a downpour. The road turned to mud beneath their feet and Gilmore's wagon had to be repositioned in the grassy plain. The wet weather worsened his cough and Wynne fussed over him continually until he told her that this was most likely a new norm for his life and added that he would call her the instant he felt worse. The Enchanter clearly didn't like it but knew that he was right and so turned her attention to the others to keep them healthy in this constant damp. And she did her work very well. They only suffered a handful of colds on the road and when they started into the hills around Redcliffe they found that they needed every available fighter.

The Darkspawn were more prolific than ever and worry settled into their ranks. They forwent camp that last night and pushed through the hills in the dark as a storm kicked up and made them even more miserable. The gusts howled around the village of Redcliffe and Alistair, Ffion, and Riordan were detrimental in keeping watch as they realized the Darkspawn had targeted the place and were actively wreaking havoc. They crested the last hills in the wee hours of the morning and prepared a full on frontal attack.

Murdock had clearly been able to retain some semblance of a force to protect the castle and even as Eamon and Ffion's troops poured from the hills to take on the company of monsters that swarmed the village, shouts were heard and Orzammar's army was hot on their heels. The Darkspawn did not expect this and they fell quickly to the flashing blades, dangerous arrows, and devastating magic. In no time, the village was clear and by the time the sky lightened, they were advancing on the castle and destroying the last of the monsters that had retreated to the massive gates. There was damage done to the reinforced wood, but they had held and the exhausted soldiers cheered the return of their Arl with tangible relief.

Eamon's first priority was to check on Isolde and Conner who were frightened but safe and then he saw to the cleaning and providing of the village. The damage from the Darkspawn was bad, but the loss of life was minimal and the villagers were better prepared than previously believed. By early afternoon, with the Dwarves' help, Redcliffe was more or less back to normal and the evening's feast, though subdued, was well stocked. The Arl received a messenger halfway through the meal but waited until the food was cleared away and people started trailing to bed before he gathered Ffion, Alistair, and Riordan to his office.

Morrigan watched them go with a resigned, knowing expression.

The Arl paced before the fire when they entered the room and Teagan who had been leaning against the heavy desk, inclined his head to them with a tired smile and left. Eamon's face was more deeply lined even with their small victory here and a moment later they found out why.

"We have had word of the bulk of the horde," He said and couldn't seem to hold still, "A messenger arrived not long after we did and reported in."

"And the word is?" Ffion quizzed, moving to the fire and trying to keep her nerves from showing.

The Arl appreciated this blunt, straightforward approach and was grateful for the Warden's eternal consistency.

"They are advancing on Denerim and will arrive at the city within a week," He said and then added before they could interrupt, "And the Archdemon has finally made its appearance. At the head of the horde."

Alistair's face set and he glanced quickly at Ffion whose gaze hadn't left Eamon. Her grey eyes were unreadable for once and Riordan gave a small nod like he hadn't expected to hear anything else.

"A week?" Alistair repeated, "And it could take us almost two weeks to reach Denerim. So what's the plan?"

Eamon was the first to look at Ffion and the other two followed suit. She frowned thoughtfully and didn't shy away from this new responsibility. Reaching up with one hand, she tugged at a curl and then her grey eyes went back to the Arl.

"Well, leaving tonight won't do us any good," She said finally, "The Dwarves are here, of course, and I look to see the Dalish by first thing tomorrow morning. The Circle is the only questionable one. I suggest setting out when the Elves arrive and making the best time that we can. Irving won't let us down, but if we can't wait, we can't wait. Your men are ready, Eamon?"

The Arl silently commended Alistair for appointing this girl to her position. Her common sense was enviable and though she had much to learn, she proved to be a very quick learner.

"They are and Murdock has another small force to add to ours," He answered, "And leaving in the morning would be the best. That way the last minute preparations will not be rushed."

Ffion nodded and then glanced between the other two men. She was stroking Tilly's head and the thrill of excitement that went through her had been absent for too long.

"All right, then," She said, "Is that it?"

"That was all I needed of you," Eamon answered.

Riordan stepped forward a little and his grey eyes were serious.

"I have to speak with Ffion and Alistair, Arl; Warden business," He said, "Could we use this room?"

"Certainly," Eamon disguised his surprise and moved to the door, "I am retiring for the night and we will set out again in the morning."

He closed the door as he left and Alistair and Ffion turned their attention to Riordan. He paced closer to the fire and Alistair did the same. Ffion remained where she was as the ex-Templar moved to her side and they waited for Riordan to speak.

"I have been meaning to ask you this for some time," He began slowly, "I was not sure how much Duncan had time to tell you, Alistair. And I would be surprised if you knew anything at all about this, Ffion. But… do either of you know why the Wardens are vital to ending the Blight?"

The Wardens exchanged glances and then Ffion shrugged.

"I always figured it was because the taint gave us an edge over other warriors. I mean, it gives us the ability and skill in sensing their presence."

Riordan shook his head and his expression lengthened.

"If it were that simple than any warrior would suffice," He answered and there was rueful tone in his voice, "But you are not entirely wrong. The Archdemon must be slain, of course, but if any but a Grey Warden were to attempt this, the essence of the beast would merely be drawn to the nearest Darkspawn and a new Archdemon would be reborn. This makes it all but invincible," He hesitated and seemed completely unsure for the first time since they had met him, "But when a Grey Warden deals the killing blow, the essence travels into the Warden instead."

Ffion had leveled her gaze on him and Alistair frowned deeply.

"But what does that mean for the Warden?" He asked slowly, "It can't be healthy for anyone to have the essence of something like that shooting through him."

"As you know, the Darkspawn are soulless monsters and we are not," His grey eyes were steady. It wouldn't do them any good to have him falter in this now, "The essence of the Archdemon is destroyed when this occurs and so is the Warden. A heavy price to pay, yes, but a necessary one. Without the Archdemon, the Darkspawn are lost and helpless. They will retreat without a fight."

Alistair was at a loss for words and Ffion went pale but she still stood straight. Her brows furrowed and she tried to get her head wrapped around this.

"But the Warden dies," She didn't mean for it to be a question and Riordan merely inclined his head to show he was listening, "How in… How do you even begin to decide who makes this sacrifice? It seems a little like pretending you're the Maker himself; deciding someone's fate."

Riordan smiled at this, it was an argument that he had heard several times in the past and he wasn't the least surprised that it was Ffion to point it out. The girl was remarkably perceptive. She hardly seemed to realize this at times.

"During the past Blights it has always been that the most senior Warden dealt the final blow," He replied, "Since I am the eldest out of the three, I will do so. No, do not argue with me. We will follow tradition and this is something I have been prepared to do for quite some time. The taint will not spare me much longer."

Ffion's face softened while Alistair's hardened and neither one of them liked this outcome.

"Riordan," Ffion said quietly and she found herself twisting her fingers together as she always did when a situation became heavy.

"This is a Warden's life," He interrupted and his voice was rueful again, "If I fail in this, then it will be up to you two. Remember: the Blight must be defeated while we have this chance or Ferelden will be destroyed. Do not hesitate in your duty; this is what Duncan would have cautioned against as well. And do not fret over me. This life has never afforded any of us the luxury of growing old. I am ready," A heavy, unhappy silence fell as Alistair and Ffion both tried to think up arguments against this and then Riordan added, "But enough of this talk. I will let you two go and get some rest. If we are to leave first thing in the morning than you will want any sleep you might be offered. We will talk more on the return trip. Good night."

Alistair and Ffion exchanged glances again and this subject was much too heavy to discuss now. And then Riordan opened the office door and spoke briefly to someone in the hall. The Wardens turned to it and Gilmore's voice sounded from the doorway.

"There you are, Fi," He said and his voice was a little hoarse after that last bout with the stubborn cold Wynne had tried to protect him from, "If you don't need her, Alistair, may I borrow her?"

Ffion's cheeks flushed with the look that Alistair sent her and her grey eyes became over-bright. She met the ex-Templar's gaze, her stomach flip-flopping within her and her heart thudding heavily, and she could only hope that he wouldn't act on the desire she saw in his face.

"I suppose," He said finally and clenched his hands to keep from reaching out and tucking that curl behind her ear, "I'll see you in the morning. Good night."

She smiled, nodding her head.

"Good night."

"I just wanted you to walk with me for a bit," Gilmore explained, amused in spite of everything by the way these two treated one another, "It's okay if-"

"No, I'm coming," Ffion was at his elbow and she sent Alistair his smile as she walked down the hallway with her old friend.

Alistair's own smile felt goofy and despite the news they had just received, he felt strangely light as he wandered back to his own bedroom. The oil lamps were dark and the fire in the hearth was the only light in the room. The flickering shadows made strange shapes and one of these was breaking from the wall beside the hearth and stepping forward when he came through the doorway. He froze and tried to get his eyes to adjust and he wasn't sure if he should be relieved or even more worried when the shape spoke.

"Do not be alarmed. 'Tis only me," Morrigan obviously tried to temper her voice, not that he could discern any real difference.

"Odd, most of us would think that would be plenty to worry about," As usual Alistair couldn't help but provoke her, "Or are you thinking of turning over a new leaf? Got to be honest with you, Morrigan, sneaking up on people in a dark room doesn't really instill any lasting confidence."

Morrigan clenched her hands and bit her tongue. Her rational side was demanding to know why she was asking Alistair when she had Ffion, but she knew that the ex-Templar's feelings would be so much more exploitable than the Warden's and she didn't think that she _could_ ask this of Ffion. And never mind that it would serve both of them in the end.

"I am not here to instill confidence," She replied and strove to keep her voice calm, "This is so much more important than that."

Alistair stared at her for a heartbeat longer and then crossed the room to the oil lamps. He lit one and faced the witch again. Folding his arms across his chest and wondering what made her so desperate as to seek him out, he arched his brows.

"I'm listening."

Morrigan glanced quickly at the door that had been partially swung shut and then became the cool, superior witch that had always irked him.

"I came here to tell you that I know what must be done to kill the Archdemon," She began and tried to search for the right words, "In addition to this, I also have a way out of that fate. I have found the loop to your hole and can give you the means to avoid the death of any Warden."

Alistair's brows inched up even further and he was rather annoyed at the little spark of hope that lit within him. He had to grudgingly admit that if anyone had the power to avoid the Wardens' fate it would be Morrigan, but he wasn't willing to accept blindly.

"If you're suggesting that we run away, I should tell you that you're the last person I would choose to escape with," His Templar-trained, automatic suspicion of mages always came roaring back when he spoke with the witch and that made his voice dry.

"A sentiment I share," She answered coldly and kept her temper remarkably well, "No, what I suggest is a ritual as old as time itself. A ritual that must be completed tonight, under cover of darkness. A stormy night for an act that belongs to such an environment... A dark night for dark deeds…"

"All right, I was nervous before but now I'm downright creeped out," Alistair's voice had become impatient and he stepped forward as though to steer her out of the room, "If you're not going to be straight with me, Morrigan-"

"You must hear me out," She interrupted and some of the desperation and uneasiness she had felt for the past few weeks carried through in her words. She despised her show of weakness and then saw that this was what kept Alistair from kicking her out. He stopped and stared at her with surprise shining in his honey eyes, "May I speak without interruption? After I have told you everything, then you can throw me out and curse my name as you wish to."

The ex-Templar blinked. Morrigan was actually asking instead of assuming and it came out more kindly than anything else he had ever heard from her. He nodded before he realized it and stepped back, settling on the foot of his bed. The witch paced to the fire again and the flickering light danced off her face, making her beauty somehow terrible to behold. She looked every inch the Witch of the Wilds.

"As I said, I know what the Wardens must face to kill the Archdemon and I have discovered a solution," She kept her voice quiet, smooth, rather like Zevran when he got into one of his more suggestive moods and it made Alistair's skin crawl. The witch wisely refrained from mentioning where she had found this secret. A sure-fire way to set Alistair completely against her would be informing him that Flemeth's grimoire held the Wardens' salvation in its ancient pages, "What you need is a fourth tainted spirit, a newly conceived one. When the Archdemon is slain, its soul will seek out this fourth spirit like a beacon. The pull it will feel for it will save the Wardens and their allies from any threats."

"A fourth with the taint?" Alistair repeated, unable to keep silent any longer, "That doesn't make any sense, Morrigan, if you mean what you say about keeping the Wardens alive."

Morrigan shook her raven head, her gold eyes unreadable. She took a breath and steeled herself as best she could for the ex-Templar's reaction to her next words.

"You are mistaken. I meant 'conceived' quite literally. Lay with me tonight, Alistair, and I will conceive a child with the taint already flowing within it. Strike the killing blow and the essence of the Archdemon will-"

"Andraste's bloody… flaming… blasted…" Alistair partially rose from the mattress, his eyes huge with shock. He couldn't seem to find an oath quite strong enough to match what he started with and so he tried again, "Shit, Morrigan, you can't be serious? Lay with… What the hell are you driving at?"

"You told me that you would listen before you tossed me out," She countered, trapping him with his own promise.

"Yeah, but I didn't know you were going to ask _that_!" He exclaimed and his cheeks flooded with bright color. Being embarrassed and incensed at the same time did little for rational thought and he added rather lamely, "Shit, you _hate_ me. What did you think I was going to say to this?"

Morrigan folded her arms over her chest and studied him coolly. She tried to tread carefully. She needed him if she was to see this through and she felt that odd pang when she considered what would happen to Ffion if there was no alternative to a Warden being killed. If Riordan failed, Ffion wouldn't let Alistair make a move against the Archdemon and as long as it was within her power to do so, Morrigan would make sure that the young Warden didn't face the repercussions of this heavy burden fate had shouldered her with. And of course, she herself would get what she wanted in the end.

"You are not standing by your word," She repeated stubbornly and the icy edge was back, "Allow me to finish explaining. When the Archdemon is killed the taint of the fourth will absorb its essence, saving the Wardens and ending the Blight. You, Riordan, and Ffion are left alive and the Darkspawn will retreat. I will disappear in that same instant. I will have what I want and the… child will not threaten your or your heir's claims to the throne. I will be left to raise the child on my own and you will not seek me out at any time after the Blight has ended. I want the soul of an old god and this will more than suffice. You want to live to see the Blight ended and I am showing you the way. We both achieve our ends."

Alistair was on his feet, pacing in agitation. He wasn't sure what made him angrier: the fact that Morrigan thought she could actually pull this off or that he was seriously considering it.

"Why are you talking like I've already agreed to do this?" He demanded and turned abruptly to face her. Her gold eyes glittered in the light and she was more beautiful than he ever remembered her being. Strange how it never seemed to affect him until now, when there was the possibility that… "You're not being entirely honest with me, Morrigan. Why are you here talking with me and not offering this same thing to Riordan? He's a Warden, too, remember? Or was he so horrified by the idea that-"

"You wear your heart on your sleeve, Alistair, you always have," She interrupted with an absence of venom that made him even more nervous. Her magic shimmered in the air around her and she knew how irresistible this was to any man. Alistair was no exception and though her distaste for doing this with him was strong, her desire for her 'old god' was even stronger. She tempered her voice and it became husky, almost wanton, "Think what this will mean for you. Striking the killing blow to the Archdemon and living to tell the tale. The first Warden to live through this and be marveled for the rest of your life," She moved closer, watching his expression like a cat and changing her tack when he wasn't receptive to this argument. She had known he wouldn't be and so had saved her strongest ammunition for the end. He wouldn't be able to withstand this attack, "Or you may consider this. If Riordan does not kill the beast, if something were to prevent him from accomplishing his goal, do you truly believe, even for a moment, that Ffion will not step forward and slay the Archdemon herself? Do you think she will be content to stand aside and allow the King of Ferelden to sacrifice himself when it is within her power to save him?"

"I won't let her," Alistair had stopped pacing and his voice was hoarse. His heart jumped in fear at that thought and then he found himself wondering when Morrigan had moved so close to him.

"No?" She was practically whispering now, leaning towards him as her magic wound around both of them, "You would kill the beast yourself and leave the woman you love alone; feeling as though she has failed you? Could you do this to the one you have sworn to protect and keep close? Your love has been through so many trials, you would consent to her going through one more severe than all the rest? There is no reason for this added heartache. I hold the power that will allow you to remain together through this… It is one night, Alistair. One night in the hundreds you will have with your love. Tell me it is not worth this small sacrifice."

Alistair was lost in the witch's stunning gold eyes; so close he was able to count the thick lashes that skirted them. Her words made sense and though he knew it was the magic that she was weaving about the room, he couldn't bring himself to put a stop to it. He kept seeing Ffion: her direct, honest grey eyes, the small round face surrounded by the cloud of unruly chocolate curls. The quick, dimpling grin when she heard a lewd joke and the delighted peal of laughter when Oghren proved himself to be the most irreverent one among them; he saw her determined fight in the Deep Roads and the way she reached for him at Tapsters, lifting her face to his and…

"This is wrong," He heard himself say and wondered if it was really his voice. The words were spoken so roughly and his hands grasped the witch's waist without his brain telling them to do so, "If anyone knew…"

"No one will," She replied and shook that magnificent raven head when he bent closer, "Not here. Follow me in a moment."

She stepped lightly to the door and disappeared from view. Alistair waited a moment, still bewitched by her, and then trailed after. He wasn't sure how he knew where to go, but some quiet voice in his head whispered that everything about Morrigan, everything _within_ her, was controlled by that same compelling magic and he twisted through the castle until he found a room tucked entirely away from the rest. She hadn't lighted any lamps and he hesitated for the first time as her arms twined around him.

"Wait," He whispered and added like a prayer, "Ffion-"

"Ffion must _never_ know," Morrigan said firmly, her voice still soft and seductive. Her lips were next to his ear and her breath hot on his skin, "_Never_. No more time can be wasted… You will not hate this as much as you might believe."

_Dark night for dark deeds_… Morrigan's words echoed back to Alistair, almost as though they were mocking him. And as he gave himself up to the deed, he couldn't agree more. He was lost in a world consumed by nothing but pleasure and when he slunk from it again, he hated himself. _Immersed in sin..._ new words teased him now and though he couldn't remember who had told him that, he knew it had been in relation to a young whore who had bounced between the Chantry and the brothel before meeting a tragic end at the hands of one of her customers. Were his own actions here, tonight, any different?

_Immersed in sin_… Morrigan's hands pressing him close, the earthy smell of her raven hair, the intoxicating silkiness of her skin…

Alistair shuddered, trying to shake these thoughts as he slumped against the wall in the deserted hallway. He tried to think of Ffion, the woman he had ultimately done this for, and the small vestige of what was good and pure in his head berated him harshly, telling him that he couldn't use her innocence to replace his. Almost groaning aloud as he realized just how lost he had become, he pushed from the wall and sent a plea for forgiveness to the Maker.

The castle was still and silent and his way was clear as he trudged back to his room in abject misery. But as he put his hand on the door to hide away, a voice spoke from the shadows.

"You fool!" Zevran hissed and when he stepped forward the dim light showed Alistair just why it was the Elf could be so dangerous. His amber eyes glittered furiously and held none of their usual charm and his face set into hard, angry lines. He looked capable of anything, particularly anything violent. He moved forward and grabbed Alistair's arm roughly, shoving him into the bedroom before continuing his assault where they were less likely to be overheard, "Do you realize what this will do to her spirit? You complete fool; you could kill her with this!"

Alistair got angry in his turn. He yanked himself away and then stood straight, glaring at the Elf and trying to come back from the thought that Zevran was entirely in the right here and he didn't deserve to defend himself in this.

"She won't ever know," He replied sharply and added because he had to, "I know what I'm doing."

Zevran snorted and paced irritably away. He was fuming; angrier than he could remember being for a long time and he knew that stewing in this since he saw Alistair and Morrigan disappear together had not been healthy. He had been half-tempted to barge in on them and wondered what it was that had held him back. Glancing back at Alistair's face, seeing how much the ex-Templar needed to believe this, he couldn't help himself. He spat a few curses in Antivan and then rounded on Alistair again.

"Do you?" He demanded, "Do you truly know? Think of what you are getting involved with. This is Morrigan. The same Morrigan whose priority is her own neck and pretty as that may be, she is not to be trifled with. Blasted gods, Alistair! If Ffion even got a hint of this-"

"I told you, she won't ever know," Alistair interrupted harshly, his guilt heavier with the look of complete horror that that thought brought to Zevran's face, "You don't know the circumstances, Zevran, and be thankful for it. What I'm doing – what I did… it was for Ffion. And that's all you need to know. Neither one of us would ever hurt her and… If this hadn't been done, the repercussions would be terrible. I won't lose her. I can't lose her."

Zevran's jaw clenched and his amber eyes were shuttered. He remained motionless as he measured the ex-Templar. Alistair's face was so drawn, he looked so tired and young, and all the feelings he had for their little Warden were written across his face as though someone had taken ink and done just that. Letting out a resigned sigh, trying to still his anger, the Elf stepped forward, shaking his head.

"And the repercussion if someone else saw you and lets this slip? Will they be worth it?"

Alistair suddenly transformed, smoothing his expression like he was drawing curtains, and he became a king in that brief moment.

"If it meant saving her life, would you hesitate for even a minute?" He replied and his honey eyes were level on Zevran's amber, "You love her, too; you know how I feel. Would you really let serious harm come to her if you were offered the chance to prevent it?"

The Elf searched his face for a long moment, thinking of Rinna and how badly he had slipped there. He had had the chance to save her and let his own pride and righteous anger stand in the way. There was not a chance he would let that happen again, and most definitely not with Ffion. Not with the woman who had come to mean even more to him than his Rinna. Inclining his head, he moved towards the door.

"You know the answer to this already, yes?" He answered, "I just hope you are right in saying you know what you're doing."

Alistair hesitated a moment too long and the amber eyes were so quick to judge. He lifted his shoulders again and his voice was strong.

"Even with my doubts, Zevran, this is the way to save her. I'm doing what I have to and yes, I know what I've done; what I'm doing."

Zevran left the room, closing the door quietly behind him and Alistair immediately crossed to the pitcher of fresh water and big shallow bowl sitting on the cupboard. He dumped the water into the bowl and scrubbed at his face, trying to wash away those memories. _Immersed in sin… Dark deeds in a dark night…_ It was a long time before his hands stopped trembling and would be even longer before he felt truly clean again.

* * *

The Elves arrived in the wee hours of the morning and, before dawn, Ffion met with both Harrowmont and his stewards and Lanaya to discuss their readiness to depart for Denerim. The whole caravan of Dalish had followed their Keeper of course and Eamon offered the village as a safe haven for those who would not be fighting the Darkspawn. The Dwarves and Elves were prepared to leave at any time and just before Ffion dispatched a messenger to the Circle, one of Eamon's scouts reported that a group of mages was two miles north of the village.

The Warden gave Eamon the word that the armies were ready when he was and then she sought out Gilmore. She was half-tempted to knock at Alistair's still closed door and check on him, but something made her change her mind and instead she moved down the hall to her friend's room. She rapped lightly on the door and opened it when he called an answer.

Gilmore stood by the window, looking out into the grey, bleak light of the coming day. His hands pressed against the windowsill and Ffion felt a cold dread seep into her heart. The normally broad straight shoulders were slumped and she saw with a start that Gilmore looked years old than what he was and she was suddenly forced to consider what the repercussions of his imprisonment at Howe's would be.

She moved to his side, standing close enough for their arms to brush and stared out the window with him. Through the faded light, they could make out darker shapes of the Elves and Dwarves scurrying back and forth from the village to the castle with Eamon's men as they made the few last minute preparations. The whole atmosphere of the castle was charged with excitement and anxiety and Ffion hoped this energy would be enough to sustain them through the travel back to Denerim.

"I wish I could go with you," Gilmore finally said and reached out to take one of her hands in his, "But Wynne is very…"

"Persuasive?" Ffion offered and had to keep her voice soft. The emotions she had suppressed while prepping the armies were now vying for control here and she didn't know how long her voice would stay steady and even.

"I was going to say rather terrifying," He replied wryly and the smile he sent her was gentle, "Kind of like your marmie."

Ffion's eyes smarted with tears and she ducked her head against his arm. Pressing her cheek there, she had to swallow before she could venture an answer to that one.

"That's the impression I always got, too," She said and the words were muffled against him.

"Tell me, Fi, please," Gilmore implored quietly, "Tell me what happened."

She inhaled quickly and held the breath against the pain and heartache that flooded her. Her fingers bit into Gilmore's hand and she raised her head, looking out the window again. She knew what he meant and though her words were hesitant at first, she finally told him the circumstances surrounding Howe's death, speaking to the glass and feeling his eyes on her face. She even steeled herself and related the subsequent imprisonment at Fort Drakon, though she excluded her run-in with the bastard's soldiers.

"They left you alone?" He asked sharply and his meaning was clear.

"Yes, they left me alone," She bit her lip briefly; it wasn't a lie, "I think they would have preferred to house me in some form of seclusion, but they had another prisoner there already. They won't make that mistake again."

"It's no use, Fi, you're keeping something from me," He said, knowing this girl inside and out. She blanched and he turned his body to lean against the windowsill and look her full in the face, "What is it?"

She took a deep breath and shook her head at him. Her grey eyes suddenly became shuttered and she pressed her free hand against their clasped ones. The brand was tight and the bruises on her neck had faded; the scar left from the Dwarf assassin's blade was jagged across her lower back, the bumps and bruises from the Fade and Ostagar long since healed. But it never ceased to amaze her how painful all of it was, no matter how much time passed.

"No, Rick," She replied softly and smiled at him, "Not now. It's… let's just say it's too soon. The reason I stopped in was to say good bye. I left you that night to face… hell and broke our promise. I hardly had the chance to give you a proper good bye and I'm not going to let that happen again."

Gilmore tightened his hold on her, fear stabbing through him at the determined look on her face. That look always preceded her getting into trouble and this time the results would be so much more serious and deadly than a simple scolding from loving parents.

"No, no, Ffion, I know that look," He said and forced a little smile, "I wasn't so addled as that in that dungeon. And you're talking like you don't think…? – No, _expect_ to come back. Tell me that's not true."

"You know I can't," She stepped closer and brushed his hair back at his temple. There was a spot of blond-almost grey starting there and she couldn't imagine the horrors he had lived through. His nose, repaired to the best of Wynne's abilities, held a crookedness that was rather charming but his green eyes had lost nearly all of their spark, "And I don't think it's right to pretend, not anymore. I love you, Rick. You're my brother, my dearest friend, and if I-"

"Don't say it," His voice was rough with emotion and he stood, pulling her into his arms and pressing his cheek to her chocolate hair. There was movement at his doorway, but Eamon wisely didn't interrupt, "Let's play pretend one last time and say we'll see each other in a couple of weeks. You can't deny a sick man that."

Ffion released a shaky chuckle and when Gilmore let her go, she took his face in her hands and rose up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

"Agreed," She answered, "Now rest up, we'll have plenty of havoc to wreak when I get back if we're going to be 'Rick and Fi' again."

"That's never changed," It was his turn to brush her temple and his expression was so tender, "And it never will. Be careful, little one."

Tears burned in Ffion's eyes again and she gave him one last hug before turning to the door. It hurt too much to hear Fergus' endearment right now and Eamon proved a good distraction.

"We're ready to march, Ffion."

* * *

**Second A/N:**To those of you who read this: It made so much more sense to have Morrigan approach Alistair than the Warden. With the way I've written the characters, it was more likely to have a successful Alistair manipulation than a Ffion manipulation. The ritual was always one of my very, very few complaints about this game just because of my own morals and so I devoted myself to the true fan fiction nature and played with the story. Hope you don't take too much offense. -catalinaD


	69. Chapter 69

**A/N:** Sixty-nine chapters, a few more to go, and you all are incredible. Thanks so much and take care!

* * *

The dark grey days and threats of thunder and lightning storms suited Alistair's mood. He couldn't look Morrigan in the eye and Zevran treated him with more aloof indifference than usual. Though the Elf was such a brilliant performer one could hardly see the change. And Ffion…

The Warden clearly missed Gilmore and for the first couple of days on the road, she bounced restlessly between the entourage of nobles with Harrowmont and his army, Lanaya and her elders, and Irving's mages. Solona had petitioned to join the First Enchanter and the two women became fast friends. Ffion also met with Eamon and Teagan in the evenings to discuss their strategies for the upcoming battle and Alistair always joined them, but there was only so much they could do without knowing the formations of the Darkspawn ranks. She would have spent time with Alistair and this was part of her restlessness. He held her at arms' length and steeled himself to the pain of her bewilderment. No one needed to point out to him the uncharacteristic change and he didn't think he could alter it, no matter how much he might want to.

Long ago he had put Ffion up on a pedestal and allowed her to become his banner, his reason to succeed in this fight. She transformed from his fellow Warden into a pinnacle consisting of all they were fighting for and in that one night, with that one dark deed, he destroyed any right he had to those feelings for her. In one fell swoop, he severed himself from anything pure and untouched by the evil in the world and to him, Ffion encompassed both of these things. He could suddenly understand Oghren's jokes with a familiarity that made him even more uncomfortable and Wynne started studying him with her foreboding frown and making him realize how obviously rattled he really was. Not that he brought himself to care much. His attentions were the same as they had been with Teagan and Eamon, he still endlessly planned and discussed Ferelden's future after the Blight, but he withdrew from the companions that had seen him this far and the negative influence this had on Ffion permeated to everyone. Without her fellow Warden's company, without his teasing, the quips and silly jokes, without his attention, Ffion lost some of her spirit and she drooped, and no matter what Zevran and Oghren said or did, she had a difficult time coming back from this. She missed him. And when this was pointed out very bluntly to the ex-Templar, it came from the last person he wanted to see.

The armies stretched across the valley where they had staked camp for the night. They were perhaps three days out of Denerim and in spite of this, Ffion had had an off day. Alistair, his guilt heavier than ever, shook off his uncles and wandered to a small rise behind the collection of his companions' tents. The sounds of the men and women eating and chatting carried through the air and he spotted Ffion sitting on the ground with Tilly's head in her lap. The light of their fire flickered on her face and gleamed in her chocolate curls as she spoke animatedly with Riordan, coming back from the dark thoughts that had consumed her all that day. The others were relaxed around her, talking amiably, and the sight of this only made Alistair feel worse. The knowledge that he would be more than welcome there didn't help and he skirted them, avoiding their attention, and slipped into the few bare trees that crowned the little rise. He leaned against the rough bark of one of them and stared at the winking patchwork of tents and fires spread before him.

He blew it and he knew that, but what could he have done? Morrigan had been so persuasive; she played him flawlessly, exploiting the one thing in his life that he didn't want to live without. And he went along with it. That was the thing that was so hard to reconcile. He had known the repercussions before the act was even done and as petulant as it sounded, he didn't even have the luxury of claiming he had had no foreknowledge.

"You are aware, I hope, that you are acting an incorrigible ass," The cold voice was unmistakable and the bushes hardly stirred as Morrigan approached him.

Alistair pushed from the tree, hating the color that flooded his cheeks and wishing the visions that came back to him weren't real.

"And you're aware you're the last person I want to see, right?"

"We have made our choice," She replied and folded her arms over her chest. It irritated him that she looked more beautiful than ever in the twilight, "And now we put it behind us where it belongs and finish our task. We have both received what we wanted, yes? Then there is no need to have this discussion."

"That's just the point of the discussion," He snapped back, "We got what we wanted, sure, but what's the cost, Morrigan? I can't even… It was a mistake and I never should have let you talk me into it. The way I feel now… It's not worth it."

"'Tis not?" She asked and studied his unhappy expression. When she was honest with herself, she had known that Alistair would be this way about that night, it was simply his nature. Her own misgivings about the ritual had blessedly been unfounded and though the initial distaste for doing this with _him_ had been strong, the feeling hadn't lasted long. Alistair was a handsome man, strong, and determined; in short he had been ideal. Riordan was too old for such a thing, the taint had run its course too long in him, and she knew the moment it had happened that Alistair had given her what she wanted. She would have her 'old god' and Alistair would have his queen so long as he didn't allow this silly despair to so consume him that he got himself killed in the fight with the Darkspawn, "Alistair, quit playing the martyr and be reasonable about this. You must look at the benefits of such an act."

"Stop it," He said with a wave of his hand and the magic that shimmered and wove through the air was dampened, "You really think I'd let you pull that trick again? You need some new moves, Morrigan. And you can't expect me to bounce back from this without some lingering effects. I mean, what we did… I - I don't know how to deal with it."

She saw the spark of his old spirit in his eyes and she bit her tongue against the sharp retort. She hated to be cut from her magic and she shifted uncomfortably, hiding it from the ex-Templar with the expertise that years' of experience brought her. Her gold eyes glittered as she looked up at him.

"What we did was merely sex, Templar," She tempered her voice into steel again and meant to poke and prod him into some state of excitement for the upcoming battle. As usual, his feelings would perk Ffion and they needed their Warden back to her old self or that night would be for naught.

"Are you crazy?" He hissed his honey eyes wide as he glanced over her shoulder at the fire flickering around the companions' tents. The small clump of trees somewhat hid them from view and the wind was freshening again, smelling like rain, which would keep the activity to a minimum. But Zevran's tent was fairly close to the bushes on the other side of the trees and though the Elf already knew, he wasn't looking to have another tense conversation with him, "Why don't we just-"

"They will not hear. Do not think I am a fool," She replied sharply and her power surged back through her.

Alistair's Templar training made it possible to feel that tug of magic and he let it go. She had her uses, this Witch of the Wilds.

"I know you're not," He gave a resigned sigh, "That's the problem. Why are you here?"

She blinked. The ex-Templar surprised her more often than she cared to admit and he was so much more perceptive than they gave him credit for. Leliana had warned her of this and the witch had merely shrugged the implication away at the time, but the moments where he knew precisely what any one of the companions was thinking made her pause.

"Stop avoiding Ffion," She said firmly, "'Tis a silly, uncharacteristic practice for you and practically shouts that you are ashamed."

He gave a snort of laughter that was less than amused. His honey eyes shuttered and he arched his brows.

"So the fact that I actually am ashamed is - what? Just a fun side effect?"

"If you do not realize that you need to spend time with her to chase this absurd shame away, then you are the fool I always believed you to be," She snapped and they were back in their old positions of apostate witch-versus-Templar which, strangely, seemed to work best for the both of them, "You do not think you deserve her now and that would be correct. I do not believe you ever deserved her, but she is fond of you and misses you. Again, I am not entirely sure why. I know you do not trust me, Alistair. I have given you no reason to, but I am asking on her behalf. Unbelievable as it may be to you, I feel the same as you all do, that that girl is a soul to trust and respect. Trust to that at least."

She waited until she saw a little flicker in his eyes before turning to retreat to their circle of tents again. She had done her work and she knew that her chosen tack had been the right one. If he thought he could give some of Ffion's hope back than he would spring at the opportunity.

"And what am I supposed to say when they see both of us coming back from here?" He asked and was only partially serious.

She glanced over her shoulder at him with an arched brow.

"They believe I retired for the night," She answered, "There are numerous ways to sneak away from them, but if there are questions: lie. Tell them you spotted me sneaking away and your over-active Templar influenced imagination caused you to suspect I was going to drape myself in black mourning and appeal to my dark gods with blood sacrifices. You were simply trying to save your armies. This should have come easily to you."

Alistair was amused in spite of himself and the witch disappeared into the bushes. He heard a strange buzzing a moment later that faded into the night and he considered her words for a heartbeat longer. The sound of Oghren's gruff, loud voice and Zevran's retort preceding that peal of laughter from Ffion made up his mind. He pushed through the bushes and wandered to their fire. Wynne and Leliana broke from their conversation to smile at him and he crossed to Ffion. Oghren and Sten were sharpening their blades and Zevran lounged close to the Warden. Tilly's heavy body was the only thing between them and Riordan had disappeared. The Warden sent a brilliant, hopeful smile up at him when he stopped beside her and his heart lifted. Morrigan was right… much as the thought galled him.

"You're here to stay, I hope?" She asked quietly and her clear grey eyes held none of the suspicion he had been so sure of seeing after leaving Redcliffe.

"If that spot's available," He replied and felt Zevran's gaze boring into him.

"Of course," She shifted on the ground, sitting a little straighter against the log and stretching her legs out towards the fire.

The ex-Templar dropped beside her and stroked Tilly's head when the Mabari stretched her neck across her lady's lap to lick his fingers. Zevran stared at him for half a moment longer and then leaned over to offer a flask of ale.

"So the royal bastard has descended from the heights to grace his fellows with his presence, yes?" The Elf quizzed and the amber eyes were dancing again. He hid the insult quite well there and Ffion's grin made it worth the sting, "We are honored."

"Drink it in while it lasts, ladies and gentlemen, your future opportunities… Well, they'll be pretty slim."

Ffion's chuckle was the cure he needed and for the first time in nearly two weeks, he felt like he had reason to hope again.

* * *

The fires in Denerim were visible from miles outside the city and the skirmishes with the Darkspawn became more frequent. Several times throughout the last day of their march a huge, silent shadow swooped through the heavy clouds above them. Riordan, Ffion, and Alistair tensed each time, feeling that swirl and pull of the taint, but the Archdemon never attacked. It seemed to be toying with them and this steeled Alistair's resolve. When it finally came to a head, when they were prepared to storm the front gates where the Darkspawn crawled, he addressed their armies and was more like Maric than ever.

"Today we fight for Ferelden!" He called out over the din of the both ally and foe, "We fight for Denerim! Look on the Darkspawn horde, but don't fear them! We have a stronger cause than they ever will! Today is the day we avenge the death of my brother King Cailan and most importantly, today is the day we honor those Wardens that fell at Ostagar and remind the Order that we will never forget their sacrifice! So take up your arms, place your faith in the Maker and Andraste, and fight for Ferelden and the Wardens!"

The charge sent a shock-wave of excitement through the forces and the erupted cheers drowned out all else. Blades were held aloft in a salute to the king and shields were clattered together so loudly the Darkspawn at the city gates went still. The armies turned about at a signal from Ffion and war cries echoed through the air as they charged. Hundreds of men, Elves, and Dwarves swarmed the gates in an attack so fierce the Darkspawn retreated with shrieks of terror. When the gates were theirs, the commanders looked to Ffion. The young Warden was grim faced, but pleased and she stepped into her role with ease.

"Sweep the city!" She shouted, "Focus your attention on Fort Drakon and if there's even the smallest threat of becoming overwhelmed, turn back and regroup! The Archdemon will be lured to the Fort and the Wardens will need all the support we can get! Maker go with you!"

The forces that were chosen to make the sweeps disappeared with shouts and salutes and Ffion turned her attention to Riordan when he approached. There were small skirmishes towards the interior of the city and the Dalish and Redcliffe archers kept busy with staving these.

"The Darkspawn have generals, Ffion," The concern in Riordan's voice was less than encouraging, "If they are dispatched, the odds will tip in our favor. The Darkspawn are even more chaotic without a leader. On your way to the Fort keep an eye out. The pull from the generals is much like that from the Archdemon. Most unmistakable."

"It's… It feels like it's coming from the west and… north?" Alistair hesitated a moment and then his face got a little longer, "But that'd be towards the market place and that's well out of our way."

Riordan paused to search the taint for himself and Ffion wondered how they did it. Hers was so chaotic it seemed an impossible thing and the constant revolutions from the Archdemon overhead kept throwing her off. When Riordan finally confirmed Alistair's words, she set her jaw and gave a nod.

"Well, we'll just take the chance," She said firmly, "If this will give us an edge, it'll be worth it."

"I will continue to Fort Drakon and attempt to lure the Archdemon that way," Riordan offered, "It will not be able to defend its generals in this case and you will have more of an opportunity. May I also suggest that you split into two groups? You will have better luck and-"

He was cut off by the outrage from the companions and Ffion sent him a rueful smile and shook her head.

"The only way I'd get any of them to split from me would be to tie them up and have others physically carry them away," She answered dryly and earned smiles from those around her, "No, Riordan, I understand the sentiment, but we're staying together. A force will be here to hold the gates and the rest will converge to the Fort."

"We'll come with you if you'll have us, Ffion," Teagan offered and motioned to the dozen warriors and archers that gathered around him, "Eamon will take charge of the men that are left here."

"It will be much appreciated, thanks," Ffion said gratefully and then gave Riordan a formal Warden bow, "Maker go with you, Riordan, and be careful."

"And you as well, sister," He replied and clasped Alistair's hand briefly before slipping away through a dark alley.

Alistair turned to his uncle when Riordan was gone and took his hand. His lips parted but Eamon interrupted him.

"No good byes now, Alistair," He said gently and firmly, "Take care of the generals and we will meet at Fort Drakon. Watch after the others, make your father and I proud, and do honor to Ferelden."

Ffion smiled at the Arl, stepping forward and pressing his arm.

"Maker guide you, Eamon, and keep you safe."

"And you as well, my dear," He said and released his nephew's hand, "Go quickly now while there's a break in the fight."

He nodded to his brother, clapped his shoulder, and then the group slipped away. They took side streets and alleys, following the direction of one of Teagan's men who had grown up in the city and knew it like the back of his hand. Alistair and Ffion kept them informed of the Darkspawn's presence and they were able to avoid fights that would eat up too much time or ones in which victory was very doubtful. It seemed Riordan's campaign to draw the creatures to the Fort was working and as they moved further away, even Ffion could feel something more than the usual pull of the monsters. They had reached the marketplace and while Ffion turned that way, Alistair faced the south and put one hand on her arm.

"Wait," He said softly, "There's another towards the Alienage. I can feel both of them."

Teagan motioned to his men. His blue eyes hardened as his jaw set.

"Take care of this one and then head to the Fort," He said firmly, "We'll take care of the Alienage."

"Teagan-"

"There's no time to waste. The armies need their Wardens," The Bann interrupted Wynne and then gave both Ffion and Alistair a grim smile that warred with his rather jaunty salute, "We will see you soon."

Ffion watched them go, feeling torn, and Sten pulled her back to this reality.

"He is right, kadan," The deep voice told her, "Let us end this."

She shook herself and smiled at Alistair when he squeezed the arm he still held.

"Right," She said and felt rather than saw Zevran move to her other elbow, "The bastard awaits."

They left the protection of the alley and were tossed into hellish mayhem. The busy marketplace with its numerous stands had been viciously destroyed. Buildings were set on fire, canvas ripped down and trampled, displays overturned, and merchandise scattered across the square. Alistair saw with a squirm in his stomach that the low building where his half-sister's home and shop was had been completely razed and he found himself whispering a prayer for her. He kept thinking of her five mouths to feed and didn't like considering what may have happened to them. But then the Darkspawn emerged from the shadows and the two ogres were the bigger distraction.

The smaller monsters attacked at the same moment that the ogres did and Ffion rolled between the legs of one of the huge creatures. She immediately scrambled to her feet as a Hurlock bore down on her and she staggered it with a knife before dancing away. The monster was just as quick and rounded on her only to be met by Asala's gleaming edge. The Warden ducked around behind it, stabbing with one of the shortswords and then breaking away as one of the ogres reached for her. She slashed her other blade along the monster's hand and shouted for Leliana. The Orlesian leaped onto a pile of rubble and shot arrows so quickly her hands were a blur. She heard Ffion's shout and released the catch in her gauntlet, sending one of the silver darts at the ogre that the Warden was battling on her own. The dart sailed through air and lodged in the monster's head as it made another grab for Ffion that she wouldn't have been able to avoid. In slow motion, the ogre toppled down and Ffion whirled to duck under another Hurlock's sword and stab it in the back as she darted for the second ogre.

Oghren and Zevran were battling it alone and Tilly joined her lady as she threw herself in the midst of their fight. Alistair had joined Sten, and Wynne and Morrigan were busy protecting them. Leliana kept the Darkspawn from distracting those battling the ogre and Zevran finally used the monster's grab to his advantage. He jumped and launched himself from the powerful forearm, his swords gleaming in the light of the fires as he sank them into the ogre's neck and held on as the beast crumpled. He rolled clear, yanking the swords free and letting his momentum carry him to the Genlocks that were making for the witch and Enchanter. The little monsters didn't stand a chance and he turned to make sure Ffion was okay in time to watch Alistair duck the carry-through of Sten's swing and dive at the last of two Hurlocks they had been fighting this whole time; clearly the generals that Riordan had worried about. His attack came while the monster was still off-balance and there was nothing the Darkspawn general could do to stop the razor sharp blade from slicing through his neck. When this creature fell like the other, the Darkspawn seemed to lose focus. They scattered, trying to escape and Leliana and Morrigan picked them off easily while Wynne saw to the few injuries they had accumulated. Ffion gathered her knives and Leliana moved among the bodies and rubble to gather the arrows that were still usable.

They didn't waste much time with this and instead turned their attention toward the Fort. Using the alleys and side streets, they tried to keep as southerly a route as possible and when they skirted the Alienage and crossed the river, there was no pull like there had been in the marketplace. They were just about to the Fort when they ran into Teagan's force that was battling a strong battalion. The companions arrived just in time and they dispatched the force without much trouble. The Bann had lost two men in their battle with the other generals and told them that the Elves were holding their own admirably, not about to give in to the Darkspawn.

"They seemed less than concerned about the rest of the city," Teagan added ruefully as they pressed on to the Fort, "But at least we have that place held against these bastards."

"You didn't have any Elves with you," Ffion replied with a shrug, "And they have a good excuse if they want the humans to fail here… so long as they stay safe."

"She has a very valid point," Zevran answered and tossed one of his knives into the shadows when both Wardens stiffened and he caught the movement. The Hurlock never stood a chance, "We Elves are a stubborn lot, yes?"

"But you're here," Ffion said promptly and they slowed their march as the Fort came into view and the Archdemon swooped low overhead. Her grey eyes fixed on the monster as she added somewhat absently, "That's something at least."

"Ah, but, my dove, we both know that my reason for being here is a pair of lovely eyes and dimpling smile, yes?"

Ffion's cheeks flushed and she rolled those eyes, giving him that dimpling smile as Alistair spoke next and proved that their teasing could be done no matter how life-threatening their situation was.

"Yeah, that, and of course the fact that you tried to kill her and didn't. And since she let you live - why I'll never know - you owe her a hell of a lot."

"My life, in fact," Zevran said quietly and his amber eyes were a little more serious, "And all of us will be tested to the fullest today. I for one, my dearest Warden… Ffion… I am with you, to the end."

Her blush deepened and her grey eyes glowed and Alistair's breath caught. But before anyone could say another word, the Archdemon let out a shriek that made all of them jump and cower, clapping their hands over their ears. The world itself seemed to rock as the beast swooped down closer to the city than it had yet and Ffion and Alistair could only watch in horror as Riordan made his move.

The elder Warden had reached the roof of a small tower just outside the Fort itself and they only spotted him now, when he acted. The Archdemon flew low and was close enough that Riordan grabbed a longblade, ran, and jumped into the air as the monster passed. He landed on the thing's back and he looked tiny as he clung there. The blade flashed in the firelight when he raised it and the Archdemon let out a screech more piercing than the other when the sword sank into its back. As its massive wings cut through the air, carrying it high above the city again, it reached back with one front leg to knock Riordan and the sword loose and when it was unsuccessful it tucked its wings and went into a free-fall towards the Fort. Riordan was even smaller as he tugged the sword free and struck again but he was too late. The Archdemon slammed into the top of another tower, jolting him loose and redirecting the sword blade to the broad expanse of one wing. The longblade sliced through the tough flesh as Riordan fell. There was nothing solid for the sword to catch and those below gasped out collective curses and prayers as the elder Warden plummeted to his death.

Ffion's gasp was ragged and she snatched Alistair's arm as the Archdemon let out one more shriek and tumbled from the sky, flapping its useless wing in vain. It hit the top of Fort Drakon's main tower and there was a silence from it that was louder than the din from the rampaging Darkspawn. Morrigan's resigned sigh preceded a roar that shook the ground beneath them and Ffion's fingers tightened on the ex-Templar's arm.

"Say something," She said shortly, "Anything."

"He's resting with the Maker," Alistair answered promptly and looked down at her, hating the pale terror in her face. His voice was heavy with grief, "There's nothing to say."

She shook her head, shocked by the suddenness of it all and then she realized what this meant. She released a breath and set her jaw. Letting him go, she straightened herself.

"Then we finish this," She spoke firmly with a finality that made Alistair very nervous. No matter Morrigan's assurances, he wouldn't believe it until the Archdemon was dead and he and Ffion were both still standing in the aftermath. She saw his lips part, "Not now, we'll decide that later. We have to get to the damn thing first."

Teagan frowned between them and opened his mouth but Oghren was faster.

"Decide wha', boss?" He asked gruffly, "Wha's goin' on 'ere we should know 'bout?"

"Nothing," She replied sharply and the taint swirled to life, "And right now, we don't have time."

And just that quickly, they were thrown back into the fray. They fought together, making for the Fort and hearing the roars of the Archdemon. These seemed to come at some sort of pattern and it took a moment for them to realize that it was calling for its generals, and all in vain. This filled Ffion with a grim sort of pleasure and she drew strength from it, which was for the best.

Her mind was made up: Alistair would live to be king of Ferelden. She would do everything in her power to ensure that she would deal the final blow to the Archdemon and… she was ready. The exhaustion of this running around the country like a chicken without a head, the deals, the deception, the loss of Howe and that driving force, helped her make this decision. _And Rick?_ That voice asked and she swung her swords so fiercely at the Genlock darting for her that Leliana sent her a very surprised look before going back to her archery. It hurt to think about that and she pushed it away. Gilmore would be fine, she was sure. There would be some grieving of course, but he would find some pretty little maid to settle down with and soon she would recede to the back of his head with the other childhood memories… _You know that's not true!_ The voice was even more adamant, but the Eleanor-like voice was stronger. _Ferelden needs a king and the Couslands put the country first. This is no exception!_

And then the way to the Fort's door was clear and a portion of Harrowmont's Dwarves were suddenly there. This respite didn't last long. The Darkspawn were responding to their commander's call and the waves were frequent. During another lull, Ffion drew her companions to her. She was feeling the strain of the continued combat and she let Tilly lean against her as she spoke.

"I want some of you to stay and help Teagan and the Dwarves hold the gates here, and don't argue with me," She held up one hand as they all got ready to protest, "A smaller party will get through the tower more quickly and speed is more important right now. Alistair, I think you should-"

"Not a chance in hell," He interrupted fiercely and couldn't help but glance at Morrigan who stood at the rear of the companions. The witch gave a small nod and he understood the meaning. She had meant what she said about him dealing the final blow and his insides became ice when he considered the possibility of losing his fellow Warden, "You're stuck with me, dear Ffion. I'm in this to the end and you can't split the Wardens up now. I'm not king quite yet."

She sent him a half-annoyed, half-pleased look and then her attention was diverted.

"Me too, Ffion," Morrigan spoke up quietly, "I have been with you from the beginning and I wish to be there in the end."

"You will not shake me, dove, don't try," Zevran informed her and reached out to stroke Tilly's ears.

"You all treat this like a party," Ffion muttered and then glanced up at Sten, "You'll come, too? I think the others would appreciate you being with me."

"My blade is yours, kadan," He replied, "You know this."

She inclined her head and met Oghren's unhappy green eyes.

"Take over for me, Oghren," She ordered before he could interrupt, "Keep everyone safe and give them hell. Make them wish they never left the Deep Roads and seriously question the wisdom of attacking Orzammar again."

"Ha, ya got it, boss," The Dwarf answered and then his green eyes cleared a little and he stood straighter, looking more like the warrior he must have been in the past, "A good cap'n once tol' me ta show the enemy our heart's an' then show 'em theirs. Ya do tha' fer me, Ffion, I don' trus' anyone else ta."

"You got it," She grinned and clasped his hand, "It's been an honor, Oghren. Orzammar would be proud."

Wynne smiled at her with the maternal fondness that reminded her so much of her mother and she extended her hand.

"Watch after them, Wynne," Ffion said quietly, squeezing the Enchanter's hand.

"You know I will," Wynne's own voice was soft and her blue eyes tender, "I am proud to have followed you this far, Ffion, and prouder still to call you my friend. Your courage and honesty are inspiring and no matter what may happen know I will never forget the influence you have had on my life."

She stepped back and Leliana twisted her bow between her hands.

"I want to come with you, my dear," She said, "I do not like staying behind."

"Your bow is needed here, Leliana," Ffion replied firmly and touched the Orlesian's shoulder, "Here is a story like all those you ever told us. You wanted to leave your mark on this world and accomplish the Maker's task: you've done this and don't let anyone else tell you different."

The Orlesian's eyes were bright and she nodded her copper head. A shout went up from Teagan's men and the Dwarves and they were running out of time for goodbyes.

"Here we forge our own legends," Leliana agreed and she stepped forward to give Ffion a quick hug. She wrung Alistair's hand and nodded to the other companions that would accompany the Wardens, "And we will make it a good one, no? Maker guide your hands and Andraste light your way."


	70. Chapter 70

**A/N: **Early week posting since I missed **two** weeks and I'm feeling rather guilty about that. And I'm going to try and get another posting in this weekend, but I can't make you any firm promises. (Online shopping is so exhausting!) ;-D Anyway enjoy and take care, and I wish you all the best in the Christmas season!

* * *

She darted back to the front lines with Oghren, Wynne, and Teagan's men while the Dwarves threw themselves into the fray as more Darkspawn charged the Fort.

Alistair had dubbed Ishal the 'tower of hell' all that time ago and now he knew that had been an impulsive decision. Fort Drakon was the Deep Roads rolled into the Fade and this caused him to seriously wonder if they really had any reason to hope.

They had to fight their way to the tower and the Darkspawn filth made everything treacherous. The floor was slick with grime and blood, bodies sprawled across the floor and the rubble left in the attack, and flames licked eagerly at anything that would burn. The smell reminded them of the Deep Roads and the roars of the Archdemon were louder than ever. When they gained the first floor of the tower, the roars echoed through the stone and made dust drift down from the arched ceilings. The tower's height was deceptive. The ceilings of the place were well above their heads and led them to believe that there couldn't be more than two or three floors, including this first one. Ffion wasn't familiar with this part of the Fort at all, not having seen it when she was captive, but after they slipped through the first floor and continued to the next, she saw something she did recognize.

Two Emissaries stood in the main room with a small force of Genlocks and Hurlocks. Zevran and Ffion both crouched to spring the traps that stretched before the door and the Warden's surprise at going unnoticed only lasted until she spotted what kept the monsters busy. The spells from the Emissaries were directed at a group of soldiers that were pinned against the far wall of the room and down to a last resort of hiding behind an overturned bookcase and table. Even with the room separating them and the smoke that curled through everything, Ffion recognized a few of the faces in the group of roughly a dozen soldiers. She stiffened as the trap was made useless and felt the brand on her back tighten. _You'll learn real pain now, whore._ The bastard's rough voice echoed back to her and she got to her feet slowly. While they watched, one of the Emissaries got lucky and a member of the group who terrorized Ffion suddenly ignited. His screams echoed through the room and Ffion was the last to react when her companions moved forward. She almost put one hand on Morrigan's arm to keep her from protecting the soldiers and then thought better of it. But the witch still gave her a questioning look and she only understood the Warden's movement when the room was clear.

The man who suffered the Emissary's spell had died before the Darkspawn were cut down and Ffion saw with a surge of disappointment that it hadn't been the leader of that band. That one was giving them a grateful look before he recognized Ffion and then trepidation flashed in his eyes; though he spoke with the same smug venom she remembered.

"Well, th' Maker does work in strange ways, don' he? Why woul' ya save us af'er what 'appened?"

"If I had known it was you I would have let the Darkspawn roast every last one of you," Ffion answered, feeling Alistair and Sten's questioning gazes and ignoring the way Zevran and Morrigan nodded knowingly. Tilly growled softly, feeding off Ffion's intense distaste, "Which is no surprise and a more merciful death than you deserve."

The soldier glared at her as his fellows stiffened around him and she didn't shy away from the violence she saw in his face. If it was going to turn into a fight, she would make sure they suffered.

"An' now wha'?" He finally asked and seemed to realize that even with greater numbers his little band didn't stand a chance against hers, "Ya takin' yer revenge now?"

"Why would you-"

"Get the hell out of here," She interrupted Alistair's question and moved towards the doorway that would lead them further into the tower, "I'll show you the mercy that you never considered showing me and the knowledge that you're indebted to the Warden will eat away at your being. Have fun with that."

They pressed on and Alistair frowned down at his fellow Warden, distracted from their mission.

"That was a cryptic conversation," He said and his voice was dry, "You want to fill us in on that one?"

"Not particularly," Ffion frowned down the hallway at the ballistae that were positioned against either wall. She felt the tug of the taint grow stronger again and a plan started formulating itself in her head, "Not now, anyway. It's not the right time for that story. Help me here; I've got an idea."

She pushed one of the ballistae to face the hallway with Sten's help and Alistair and Zevran repositioned the other. Her grey eyes were unreadable save the determination. She shifted her swords on her back and rooted through the boxes of ammunition until she found projectiles that smelled like burnt wood and charred rock. Loading both of the ballistae, she glanced at her companions and motioned to the hallway with one hand.

"There are more of the bastards down there," She said and her face was set into those hard lines that meant she would be impossible to argue with, "I'll go and give them an invitation to our little party here. Be ready."

"I will assist you, Ffion," Morrigan offered and sent Alistair a particularly pointed look.

The ex-Templar understood her meaning and as soon as the women disappeared with Tilly, he turned to Zevran and Sten.

"Whatever happens when we face the Archdemon, make sure that Ffion doesn't give the killing blow," He said quickly, not sure how much time he was going to have to get his point across, "It has to be me."

Sten's brows furrowed over his violet eyes and he looked more intimidating than usual while Zevran merely faced Alistair with a cool, indecipherable expression.

"What do you mean, Alistair?" The Qunari asked, "What is the difference?"

"It's life or death," Alistair replied bluntly and then added, "Or it usually is. There are… special circumstances that Ffion can't know about and one of the most integral components is making sure that I kill the Archdemon. So, please, neither of you want to lose her; just trust me in this and keep her from it if you can."

There was only time for Zevran to incline his blond head and Sten to give him another frown before there was the scrambling of footsteps and hoarse yells from the Darkspawn. Alistair rushed to one ballista while Zevran manned the other and Sten stood between them with Asala clasped in both hands. Morrigan, Ffion, and Tilly came hurtling around the corner with the witch in the lead. She darted between the ballistae and whirled to stand shoulder to shoulder with Sten. Tilly was the next to reach the companions and Ffion signaled while she was still in the cross-hairs of the ballistae.

"Now!" She shouted when Zevran and Alistair hesitated.

The force hot on her heels was too big for the six of them to beat and she knew what she was doing. Trusting her because she had seen them through so much already, the men fired the weapons and their Warden waited until the last moment. She threw herself to the floor, rolling across the hard, unforgiving stones as the ammunition buzzed just over her head. She got an extra boost when those projectiles exploded on impact with the Darkspawn and she was springing to a crouch just in front of Tilly. Nearly two-thirds of the force was destroyed in the attack and she flung her knife at the Hurlock that was closest to Alistair. Sten pushed up in front of her as Tilly's barks boomed through the hallway and Zevran loaded his ballista again. He aimed it further down and took out the rear of the Darkspawn ranks. The others didn't stand a chance. Morrigan summoned a firestorm and the companions watched as the remaining monsters were ignited in the aftermath.

"Well, that was exciting, yes?" Zevran asked and stepped away from the ballistae.

"These things are… ingenious," Sten inspected one of the weapons more closely, "In Seheron we depend on the strength of our forces, never on these sort of tricks."

"'Tricks?'" Ffion repeated and started down the hallway when the firestorm cleared away, "Strategy, Sten, we aren't… less than desirables in a back alley."

The Qunari's lips quirked and Zevran grinned fully while Alistair glanced quickly at Morrigan and away again.

"Most unfortunate, yes?" The Elf answered and was rewarded with a brief dimpling grin.

The light-hearted teasing didn't last long. Ffion and Alistair both stiffened as they entered a hall with three doors on either side of them. They continued cautiously, Tilly hampering her lady's legs and Morrigan was the one to get the biggest surprise. She was just ahead of Sten and the second door flew open in front of her as Ffion and Alistair both whirled about, feeling the taint pull at them. The witch, shocked by the suddenness of it, reacted on instinct when the Darkspawn tumbled from the room. She smashed her staff into the face of one and then swung it about and caught the other in the chest. Her power erupted then as well and the creature was suddenly a living bomb.

"No!" She said sharply and caught Sten's arm, "Do not touch it! Stay clear!"

She sent a blast of pure energy at the monster and sent it staggering into its fellows. Ffion, Alistair, and Zevran heeded her warning and Ffion grabbed Tilly's collar, pulling her close as the Darkspawn tumbled into the open room, running into its comrades, and exploding with a blast that took care of the others as well. The only downside to this was that the other doors burst open and the monsters swarmed them. Zevran and Ffion had the same thought, dropping those little distracting clouds of smoke and Morrigan repeated her energy blast, staggering the enemies once more. Alistair, Sten, and Tilly fumbled without being able to see and they couldn't do much damage for fear of hitting one of the other companions. But Zevran and Ffion moved through the smoke with ease and Ffion silently blessed her fellow Warden for staying still. It was easier to sense where he was when he didn't move.

As soon as this hallway was clear, they crossed through another and found a doorway whose door had been ripped from the hinges. The stairs leading to the next floor were slick as the first floor had been and they proceeded carefully up them. The taint was very strong at the door that had been battered on the way in and then shoved roughly shut. Ffion studied it silently, her stomach full of butterflies in spite of her determination. She would see this through; she wasn't afraid of dying, she wasn't afraid of striking that killing blow. She had wanted to see her family for far too long to let something like that stop her. She just worried that it might hurt and was too ashamed to admit this.

"I don't suppose there's a way to open this without drawing unwanted attention?" She asked, speaking to the grain of the wood.

"Sorry, kadan," Sten replied and stepped forward to give the door a mighty shove.

They collectively cursed when they saw what they were up against and Morrigan was the first to react. She conjured her lightning storm and then morphed into that huge spider that barely fit through the door. She scurried toward the Emissary that stood between the two enormous ogres with a horrifying speed, and swarmed the monster. Ffion and Tilly bolted after her and the men fell in behind. The Warden wasn't sure what the hell she was going to do. Especially when the ogres roared with fury as their Emissary fell under Morrigan's massive spider body. The witch morphed back and Sten gave her the chance to gather herself and regroup for another attack. She flung lightning at the ogre that the Qunari was darting around and then froze the other.

Ffion slashed her blades across the frozen ogre's hamstrings and then darted away when it tore itself from the witch's magic and grabbed for her. She stabbed its broad fingers, rolled between its legs, and almost collided with Tilly. The ogre proved alarmingly quick and it whirled about for her. She had another of Zevran's tricks in her hand and Alistair was caught in that disorienting dust when the pottery ball shattered on the floor. Sending the ex-Templar a brief, apologetic look that he never saw, Ffion threw herself at the ogre. She mimicked Zevran's moves in the marketplace, leaping onto the monster and letting her blades finish it off. Jumping clear, she ended up knocking into Alistair and he was back to his old self. He grabbed hold of her waist and held her against him as she got her balance again. As usual, it was like gripping a stone wall when he was steady on his feet and she gave him a grim smile as the others were successful with their ogre. The honey eyes lit with that fire for her and she had to speak before he went back on the agreement they made at Eamon's estate ages ago.

"Sorry about that," She told him and her voice was breathless for more than one reason, "But that was the only way to get rid of the bastard."

"Don't apologize," He replied and the words were husky. His hands tightened on her and his expression was as determined as hers, confirming her suspicions and successfully muddling her thoughts, "About that confession, Ffion dearest, can I-"

"No," She implored and tried to step back; Alistair moved with her. It was ridiculous to attempt to keep her voice stern, "It's not a victory and there's no sunshine… and I still don't think I'm ready."

"I'll take all but that last," He said and bent his head until her breath puffed against his lips, "This may be-"

"Don't," Her tone was fierce and her fingers pressed against his mouth, "You want me more ornery, use that argument, but don't-"

"What am I supposed to do, beg?" He demanded and his fingers bit into her waist rather painfully. The honey eyes were dark with desire and she didn't think she could resist him anymore, "You're a bloody frustrating woman, Ffion. I _want_ you and you treat it like it's unimportant. If you don't love me, just tell me that; don't keep teasing me like this. I can't do it any longer and if I try it, it'll break me in two."

She smiled gently and it was his smile and his grip was rough now. The other companions had moved to the last door after Zevran's signal and were waiting impatiently. Studying the ex-Templar's expression, Ffion slid her hands down until they took his wrists and she pulled them loose, never looking away from him. Her heart was breaking into smaller pieces as she knew what she had to do. She held his hands in one of hers and then reached up and mimicked the same brush of his temple that she gave Gilmore.

"Oh, Alistair, my dear Alistair," She murmured and heard his breath catch, "You know I care for you, but… life being as it is, Wardens can't afford love. This is something that's abundantly clear and I won't make things even more complicated by crossing a line into a situation that will never last."

"I'm not asking you as a Warden and you know it, bloody little minx," Alistair said roughly and moved closer, pulling his hands free and reaching for her again.

She stepped out of the way and shook her head at him.

"It doesn't matter," She replied mournfully and it was a near whisper. The desire in his face was destroying those walls she had erected and she wasn't positive she could keep herself from his arms, "There is a code in the Wardens and even though you're asking me as a woman, the Warden is all that's left of me now. But know this, Alistair, before the end: I adore you; my brother in the taint and my strong protector, and you would've kept my nightmares away… You're so very dear to me."

She saw the storm of emotions cross his face and the way his eyes lit more deeply. His hands clenched into fists and his breath was ragged when he released the gasp. Not able to help it, she stepped forward onto her tiptoes, and pulled his head down to kiss his cheek. He grabbed hold of her again and she could feel his fingers bite through her armor. He turned his head to kiss her on the mouth and she ducked her face against his chest. If she let him kiss her now she would never see this through. His lips landed on her hair instead and it was her turn to let out a shaking gasp.

"You can't get away this easily, my little minx," He whispered against her cinnamon smelling curls, "One of these days you'll find out just how thin those walls are."

"But not today," She replied and her words were muffled in his chest, "Alistair, promise me something."

"Anything," His answer was automatic.

"Look after Rick… He will need someone, after everything is over and… Just promise me you'll look after him."

He frowned and would've looked her in the face if he wanted to let her go.

"Of course, but-"

"It's too late for buts," She slipped away from him and started towards the others, "We hardly have time for good byes."

Confusion and frustration battling for supremacy in his head, he frowned at his fellow Warden and was horrified by the hard, resigned expression on her face. For the first time he doubted that they could keep her from the Archdemon. But she was looking at Morrigan and smiling again, the gentle smile that meant she wasn't sure if she would have another chance at this opportunity.

"Morrigan, I wanted to thank you," She began rather uncertainly; "You came with us under some duress and guided us to safety. You've been more loyal than I had reason to expect and there is nothing now that I can give you for repayment."

The witch refused to so much as glance at the ex-Templar. His heart revealed itself each time he looked at his fellow Warden and she didn't want to over shadow it. Her gold eyes stayed on Ffion and she allowed a small smile.

"And you are welcome. Though I see little point to this," Morrigan kept her aloof superiority alive and well and she didn't bother with any discretion in this matter. Though her heart was warmed by Ffion's sincerity and she realized that, annoyed as the girl's inherent compassion could make her, she was going to miss the little Warden, "We will either die out there now or live through the circumstances and I am not sure which is better."

"Way to keep the faith, Morrigan," Alistair said dryly and his eyes were still on Ffion.

The Warden turned to Sten and her cheek dimpled.

"No good byes, kadan," The Qunari spoke gruffly, turning Asala point down and keeping just one hand on the hilt as he leaned on it, "Let me simply say that it has been an unexpected honor to follow you to the end. You are the most surprising human woman I have ever met and truly have become basalit-an and basvaraad. I am with you to whatever end we may face."

"And I'm sure that the Qunlat for those words is much more beautiful than the common translation," She pressed his arm, "You've been wonderful, Sten, with the exception of a few moments, of course… Like me, I suppose. It's been an honor and I'll never forget you."

Reluctantly she turned around and met Zevran's gaze, hating this good bye almost as much as she hated Alistair's. The Elf's amber eyes were gentle and before she could say a word, he swept her a bow and then took one of her hands in his.

"Little dove, I would follow you into the beyond and there is no need to state this again," He said, "And good byes only make me teary. You do not wish to see me weep, yes? Then let us treat this battle as the others, hold our heads high, and end this monster's reign before it begins."

Ffion appreciated this attempt at the old irrelevancy and more than any touching words and she stepped forward, kissing his cheek and giving him a brief hug. There was a catch in her throat that made speaking impossible and she pressed a hand to Tilly's head. The door ahead was strongly reinforced and the pull of the taint stronger than it had ever been and she straightened herself, pushing all of her doubts and fears away and welcomed this fate with open arms. She was ready.


	71. Chapter 71

**A/N: **Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all my wonderful readers and reviewers! Hope you all enjoy the season and God bless!

* * *

The Darkspawn attacked the force holding the entrance of the Fort with a tenacity that had been entirely unexpected and the constant bombardments tested even Oghren's usually bottomless reserves. The Dwarven force had suffered several loses and Teagan was making a valiant effort to keep everyone going. Wynne's magic was indispensable though she saved her strength and used the major spells only when they were desperately needed. Leliana and the other archers scrounged for extra arrows when they had the chance and everyone wondered what was happening in the other areas of the city. The intense waves of Darkspawn were discouraging if they let themselves consider what this could mean and the next assault was the deadliest. Teagan lost three men and two more Dwarves fell to the monsters before the skirmish ended. And this only came about because unexpected help turned up.

The group of Darkspawn archers that had nearly taken complete control of the battlefield suddenly ignited and the Emissary competing with Wynne was lifted off the ground and slammed back down again. A force of roughly twenty men from Redcliffe and Denerim shouted fiercely as they swarmed the Darkspawn and the mages behind them, led be Irving and Solona, decimated any monsters that stood in their way.

"Leliana?" Solona greeted, pushing her blonde hair from those large green eyes. She glanced at Wynne as the Enchanter approached and then her gaze found Oghren almost automatically, "Wynne? I would have thought you would be in the tower. Where is Ffion? Has she not made the move yet?"

"It was decided that a smaller group could scale the floors more quickly," Leliana answered and the whole of their dwindling force breathed a little easier with these additions, "The three of us were the ones chosen to hold the entrance here with Teagan's men and this portion of Lord Harrowmont's forces."

"What does the rest of the capital look like, Solona?" Wynne cut in, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "The assault has been so intense here we haven't been sure what to think. Is it…?"

"No, not hopeless," Solona said firmly, finishing the Enchanter's thought and leaning on her staff. Her face was set, making her look much older, "The armies are still fighting their way here, but the Darkspawn are… prolific. And we stumbled upon a group which was nearly organized until their ogre was taken down."

Leliana and Wynne exchanged glances as Oghren let out a huff of breath.

"'Nother general, huh?" He quizzed, "I hope ya fried th' bastard."

Solona smiled at the Dwarf, amused by his antics, and pleased to find a soul so unalterable in this chaos.

"Does deep freezing work instead?" She asked and her eyes lit a little.

"Good 'nough," Oghren returned the grin and then glanced up at Wynne, "Wha' do ya say t'chasin' the boss if more help is comin' this way?"

"'Chasing her?'" The Enchanter repeated with a frown, "You mean leaving the post here?"

"Only if we are certain the Fort will remain in our hands, no? If this is the case, Wynne, why not?" Leliana agreed.

Solona straightened her slight body as the soldiers began bracing themselves for another attack.

"And I will go with you," She said and her staff flipped between her fingers as power surged around her. The ogre that led the charge coming their way was knocked off its feet, smashing into a dozen of the smaller Darkspawn and igniting a moment later, "Our friends shouldn't face this on their own."

* * *

Ffion and the others huddled in the meager protection the entrance to the tower afforded. They could only stare at the Archdemon as it spewed fire and stomped its powerful legs angrily. The fires from the city reflected in the smoky air and the chill that pervaded the early evening was dispelled by the heat of Archdemon's body. Rain was falling and it made the deep purple of the monster's back glisten and the claws raked across the stone that had started to get slick. The Archdemon was maybe a little smaller than the dragon they had spotted in the Frostbacks, but with the thing on the ground, swinging its spiked tail and ready to charge at the first sign of a threat, that point was moot. Every now and then it would flap its wings in an attempt to take to the sky and the whirling air it caused smelled like death. There were a few soldiers left of the force that had escaped the onslaught within the tower and these were just as panic-stricken as Ffion's companions.

Taking a deep breath and calming her nerves as much as she could, Ffion put the Archdemon on the back burner and studied their surroundings instead. The roof of the tower was wide with the innermost area sunken a few steps. Battlements ran around the perimeter and the archway the companions crowded in was mirrored across from them, though that one looked to be more for aesthetics than anything useful. The most interesting thing that Ffion saw and something that started her brain working was the collection of a half dozen ballistae. She eyed these and remembered how well they worked with the Darkspawn and the rational side of her mind was demanding to know how they were going to prevent the Archdemon from just swarming up the steps and trampling the ballistae when the companions tried to use them. Her gaze went around and she did a quick headcount of the soldiers that weren't completely out of sight. Just four and she wasn't sure she would be able to convince them to stay and help. Wincing and ducking her head against the roar from the Archdemon and staggering into Tilly as the thing made the whole tower rock, she sought out Morrigan's gaze.

"Keep moving," She told her, apprehensive of the fear she saw in the witch's gold eyes, "And hit that thing with whatever will cause major damage."

"I don't suppose your mother would show up as a dragon and get rid of that bastard?" Alistair asked and the humor fell flat, "That seems like something she'd do."

Morrigan gripped her staff, ignored Alistair, and nodded at Ffion.

"We need a distraction," Ffion spoke absently, touching Tilly's head as the Mabari whined at her, "I want to use those ballistae like we did before, but the damn thing will probably just crush them the instant it sees us."

"Then take care of its eyes," Sten's clipped tones in that perfectly rational voice centered them and the Warden glanced up in surprise. She staggered a little as the Archdemon's body thudded down again and the Qunari continued quickly, not sure how much longer they had before the monster spotted them, "You and Zevran are both quite skilled with those knives. Alistair and I will distract the beast and make it bring its head low. Fire then and prevent it from seeing anything."

Ffion was quiet as she thought this over and Zevran slipped his knives loose without a word. She nodded her head and double-checked her own knives before taking another deep breath and letting it out slowly. Smiling weakly around at them, she pulled her shoulders straight.

"My friends, this is it," She said quietly and pushed one hand to Tilly's head, knowing with a wrench it would be the last time, "I should probably say something profound and uplifting, but…"

"But all that needs to be said is what our smelly Dwarf would want: Give 'em hell," Zevran added when Ffion's voice trailed off and he did a remarkable imitation of the Dwarf.

Her smile felt a little more real and then she bent, kissing Tilly's head, and bolted from the archway. She kept the Archdemon in her peripheral, but focused most of her attention on the ballista closest to the door. She felt Morrigan's power encompass the whole of the tower top and a moment later there was a distinct chill in the air as the witch surrounded the Archdemon in a frozen cloud. This didn't stop the beast, but it did slow its movements and the Warden turned about abruptly, her knife leaving her hand and sailing perfectly into one of the fierce orange eyes. The monster jerked its head up with a furious roar and Zevran missed his chance to destroy the other eye.

Sten and Alistair looked alarmingly small as they dodged the thing's stomping feet, stabbing and slashing at anything that looked particularly vulnerable. The soldiers that had been trapped here watched the fight as though they were seeing a vision and then one of them snapped to attention and charged down the steps to join Alistair and Sten. Ffion's headcount had been off and she was thrilled to see eight soldiers fighting alongside her companions.

Morrigan waited until the monster reared back and then her staff slammed into the ground, sending a blast of energy that staggered all of the fighters below her. Sten and two soldiers remained on their feet while the rest tumbled to the ground, rolling away from monster. Zevran let his own dagger fly then and his aim proved just as accurate as Ffion's. The Archdemon reeled back even further, waving its front arms and letting out a screech of pain that made them clap their hands over their ears. The thing was successfully blinded, but it came at a cost. The stomping feet caught two of the soldiers that weren't quick enough to duck out of the way and then fire spewed from the monster's mouth, sending the others scattering for cover.

The sinuous neck whipped back and forth and it sniffed the air until it pinpointed what it was looking for. Just about to the ballista, Ffion paused to watch the beast and a moment later found out what it was doing. It made a milder call and Morrigan was suddenly surrounded by shades. Heart dropping, the Warden took a step that way and saw the witch swing her staff and freeze the demons with very little effort. Zevran pushed Ffion towards the ballista.

"Keep to the plan," He said and flipped another knife at the half dozen shades that were converging on the soldiers, "Trust us with our own necks, dove."

Ffion swallowed her doubt and darted for the ballista. Unlike those in the hallway, this one had a crank that turned the whole thing about smoothly. Zevran already found the crates of projectiles and he shoved these at her and then dove at the shades that were making for them. Tilly was on his heels and they gave the Warden the opening she needed to load the weapon. It held a jumble of the projectiles at one time and the construction was such that it grabbed each individual one and flung it at the flip of a few switches.

The first few that she fired were merely an annoyance and the Archdemon hardly seemed to realize what she was doing. It didn't prove a total loss, however. The projectiles hit the shades instead and gave the men the chance to turn their attention fully to the Archdemon. Ffion fired the ballista a sixth and seventh time and these were better shots. They struck the monster's head in rapid succession and she had just flung an eighth when the beast caught her scent and charged the ballista.

Ffion dove clear, terrified by the thing's speed and Tilly was hot on her heels as she darted to the next ballista. The Archdemon's head was dripping blood and the Warden skidded for a moment before she found purchase. The men charged the steps to distract the monster again and Ffion pulled her blades loose when it gave that odd summoning call. The shades manifested before her and she swung the swords, decapitating two of them and whirling about the cut down a third. Tilly took care of a fourth and Morrigan blasted the last with a bolt of energy. The witch turned her attack back to the Archdemon whose tail was whipping about dangerously and Ffion spun the ballista to aim at the monster. Its flank was exposed to her and this time she was able to do quite a bit of damage. Sten and Alistair were both quick to deal their own blows. The Qunari rolled beneath the monster's front legs, Asala gleaming viciously and blood dripped more steadily onto the stone of the tower. Alistair shot forward and his sword slashed at the base of that serpentine neck. Roaring as Ffion nailed the tender spot just behind its front leg; the Archdemon whipped its neck around and hit one of the soldiers sending him screaming over the battlements. It honed in on Ffion's scent quicker this time and summoned more shrieks and shades as it darted towards her.

The Warden jumped from the ballista, having just enough time to pull one sword loose. She meant to carve her way through the demons diving at her and she collided with one as shards of the ballista flew around them. Tilly was yipping in pain and Ffion fell to the stone floor, tangled with the shriek. Her blade went up through its body and the Archdemon's enormous foot slammed down too close for comfort. She shoved the demon from her and rolled to a crouch, finding herself beneath the monster's heavy body. Blood seeped steadily from the wounds Alistair and Sten inflicted and there was a trembling in the leg to her right that was encouraging… and rather frightening. Acting quickly, she yanked the other sword free and stabbed upward, piercing the tough flesh with both blades. She dragged the swords as far as she could, carving through the beast's body and feeling the hot blood pour down onto her hands. The shriek that ripped from the thing's lungs rocked everyone and Ffion pulled hard, freeing her blades, and rolling away across the floor.

The Archdemon's feet pounded down around her and it was clear, indestructible as this thing looked, it was finally weakening.

Ffion got to her feet to run for the next ballista and slipped in the blood and rain, smacking her cheek sharply off the stone and making her see stars. The flames the Archdemon spewed seared just over her and she could smell the scorched hair as heat swept by. She tasted blood where her teeth gouged her tongue and cheek and when the men's voices surrounded her, she scrambled to her feet again and bolted for the third ballista. Morrigan sent another spell of frigid air over the Archdemon and the warriors were quick to take advantage. Zevran was busy with the shrieks and Ffion saw with relief that Tilly was bleeding but okay and chasing after the Elf, taking down one of the demons as she did so.

The Warden reached the ballista, tossing another knife at the shriek in her path. This one was aimed in the right direction and she dumped the ammunition in and fired at the Archdemon. The monster was rapidly losing blood and it staggered away from the soldiers, crushing two more in its retreat. It stumbled down the steps, barely able to keep its feet, and Alistair felt a thrill of excitement and apprehension. The Archdemon's tail swung fiercely, catching another soldier and hurtling him into the side of the tower where the door was. The man didn't move when he hit the floor. Sten was knocked out of the way and the two remaining soldiers backed away with looks of absolute horror. Alistair started forward to strike again only to have his way blocked by more shrieks. Morrigan was busy with some of the shadowy demons that swarmed her; Zevran and Tilly were still taking down the group that had chased after Ffion, and that left the Warden and her ballista alone against the beast.

The ammunition that she found had more of a kick than the others and the hits she landed scorched the tough skin with flares of intense flames that made the thing howl in rage and fury. Its tail whipped through the rainy night and intensified that smell of death. Morrigan blasted her shrieks with pure energy, knocking them back, but they were quick to rebound and she flung fire at them next. Zevran and Tilly had nearly become overwhelmed and Alistair had to break from his fight to charge towards them. Sten jumped to his feet and was on the ex-Templar's heels when the Archdemon struck again.

It bolted for Ffion, moving with a rapidity that they hadn't yet seen and the Warden was just as shocked as any of them. She left the ballista and meant to dive for cover but the Archdemon had already swung its neck. The ballista smashed into splinters and Ffion was caught by the sinewy neck as well. The force flung her across the tower and she landed in a heap at the base of a fourth ballista. Something in her arm snapped with a sickening sound and her head whirled in pain. She tried to work herself up into a sitting position, knowing the Archdemon would go for the kill now, and she was so shaken she didn't think she could do even that. Gasping at the intense pain that radiated through her and tasting blood again, she could only watch as the monster whipped around and lifted its head a little as it sniffed her out. It took a few uncertain steps forward and swayed with the blood loss. Ffion pulled one of her blades free, keeping her useless arm against her body and watched as the Archdemon started for her.

It half-fell down the stairs and worked itself up again; its useless eyes were on Ffion though it couldn't see her. She used the ballista for support and got her feet under her, one ankle giving way entirely and making her nauseous with pain. The monster struggled towards her, its tail still swinging, knocking Alistair and Sten out of the way and into the mess of a fight that Zevran and Tilly were still waging. Morrigan had weakened as well, her face was drawn and pale and she flung spells that had no effect on the Archdemon. Ffion worked her way around to the other side of the ballista, but didn't have a chance to use it. The Archdemon bumped into it and then with one swipe of its massive foot, smashed it out of the way in a mess of splintered wood.

Ffion fell to her knees and tightened her hold on her sword hilt. She watched warily as the Archdemon fumbled closer and barely heard the door across from her slam open. The next thing she knew, she could hear Oghren shouting battlecries, Leliana's bow singing as it took out the shrieks, and felt Wynne's distinctive magic. The Archdemon was suddenly engulfed in lightning and it shrieked again, rearing back on its hind legs before falling forward. Its chin landed on what was left of the ballista and Ffion turned her head to avoid getting splinters to her face. The monster's breathing was ragged and shallow and the Warden worked herself to her feet, gripping the sword even more tightly.

Alistair, still fighting the left-over shades, felt his heart twist in fear as he saw his Warden hobble to the Archdemon's head and raise her blade. He nearly sliced the demon he fought in half as he tried frantically to reach her. He wasn't going to be able to and he glanced at Morrigan in pure terror. The witch's expression mirrored his and he wasn't sure how to stop this. He couldn't let her go; he just couldn't! He wanted her to stay with him; if he couldn't have her as his queen, what was the point of living?

"Ffion! Don't!" He shouted and punched one of the demons in the face as he started towards her.

The Warden met his gaze and knew there was nothing he could do to stop her. She sent him his smile, raised the sword in her good hand, and whispered,

"Good bye, Alistair, and forgive me."

She moved to the Archdemon's eye and then pointed the sword over the thing's ear. Tilly was barking and whining furiously, trying to dart for her and Zevran's expression became horrified. Not hesitating for a moment longer, knowing that she would lose heart should she do so, she glanced up to see the clouds part a little and reveal the stars. _I'm coming, Marmie and Papa. Oriana, Oren… Fergus, I'm so sorry. Maker's balls, I've missed you! _She didn't give this another thought and slammed the sword into the monster's head.

The thing screamed and a shaft of light shot up into the sky. Ffion was frozen where she was and her hand seemed glued to the sword. Morrigan took a couple of rapid steps in her direction and then froze when she felt an odd warmth start to sweep through her. The shrieks and shades disappeared with small pops and hisses and the light that engulfed Ffion and the Archdemon was so bright no one could look at it. The roaring of this echoed all around them and then with a bright flare up, the Archdemon was gone. The explosion of the thing's essence dispersing was enough to send everyone flying.

Ffion's body was thrown across the roof again and she landed at the top of the stairs. Alistair, his heart in his throat and his eyes burning with tears, ran for her. Tilly beat him there and she crouched low on her powerful legs, whining softly as she nudged her lady's face. Ffion was still and pale, her helm had been knocked completely off and blood matted in her chocolate curls. One arm hung uselessly and her face was lined with burns and scratches.

"Ffion…?" Alistair murmured. His voice was broken and hoarse and he took her in his arms gently. The Warden's head lolled a little and she didn't appear to be breathing. Tears started down his cheeks as the others slowly moved forward, not able to believe what they were seeing. Alistair bent his head to Ffion's and his heart constricted painfully, "Please, you can't… you can't leave me… Please…"

His voice broke and someone had stepped forward to press his shoulder. Eamon stood behind his nephew, bowing his head as he spoke a silent prayer for Ffion's soul. Tilly nudged her a few more times and then sat back on her haunches and howled. The mournful note cut through all of them and only Morrigan remained unmoved. She pressed her hands to her stomach and felt the warmth growing within her. She glanced down at Ffion's still, pale face and sent her own silent plea. Leliana was crying quietly, Oghren's morose expression matched Sten's; Wynne held her staff clasped in both hands like she was prepared to cast her healing magic and her utterly lost look warred with this. Zevran's heart was in his face and he crouched beside Tilly, reaching out to take Ffion's limp hand in his.

"Wait," Morrigan whispered the word and only Solona, standing nearby, heard her.

The young mage frowned and though her green eyes were saddened, she was quick to pick up on something amiss. Morrigan didn't get a chance to add anything else. Zevran gasped, leaning towards the Warden with a look of wonder, and Alistair's head jerked up as Ffion drew in a ragged breath. Her grey eyes flew open and she looked around at them all in alarm and confusion before her face fell.

"No," She whispered, "We've failed?"

Wynne grabbed Leliana in a tight hug before casting her magic. Oghren and Sten moved closer and the Qunari's smile transformed his face. Solona pressed Leliana's arm and Tilly went wild with joy, licking her lady's face and whining softly. Morrigan retreated further, seeing her opening and prepared to take it. She studied what she could see of Ffion's face and felt her heart lift. The Warden would be okay, she would live however much of this life that taint would give her, and this thought warmed the witch's cold heart. She would miss her and though it seemed cruel to leave without good byes, it was for the best.

"No, love, no," Alistair said and his voice shook with emotion. He would have pressed her close to him and refused to let her go, but she was struggling to sit up. Her broken arm was set and made her gasp again and Alistair steadied her, "It's over. We've won."

"But…" Her voice was hoarse and she looked around as her confusion deepened. The Archdemon's body was gone, though the havoc it wreaked was more evident than ever. Rain pelted down harder now and no one seemed to notice, "But, how?"

"Does it matter, my dove?" Zevran quizzed and his anger at Alistair was forgotten. Whatever deal the ex-Templar made, it kept his Warden here and he couldn't fault him for that, "The Archdemon is dead and gone and you are here with us. Did you wish it the other way around?"

Ffion couldn't help but smile at that and winced at the pain in her cheek and jaw. She reached up to touch her face and Tilly jumped at her again. The Warden allowed it, burying her face in the Mabari's fur and sending an apology to her family. The sting of being here was sharp, but she was thrilled to wake again… even if it was to a world of pain. Wynne was working to combat this and she saw the strain in the Enchanter's face when she lifted her head again. Waving for it to stop, she used Tilly as a crutch and struggled to her feet. Her ankle burned with pain and wouldn't take any weight. Everything hurt and she could feel the stickiness of the blood on her face. Her hands were crimson and she stared at them in amazement before she remembered slashing the Archdemon across its belly. This disappeared a moment later and she blinked up at Wynne who smiled gently at her.

"This is over, Ffion," Zevran added in a tender voice and wasn't in the least surprised by the uncharacteristic speechlessness this brought about in her, "Let us rest in that, yes? And worry about details later."

Ffion nodded her head without realizing it and felt that macabre desire… need of dying start to fade. Her companions were all grinning broadly at her; even Morrigan's lips were tipped at the corners. Alistair's words from ages ago echoed back to her: _Are we a collection agency for crazies? _She was half-tempted to turn and ask him if he still believed this, but his honey eyes were smouldering and making her heart thump heavily and she wasn't sure he would let her get a word in before acting on the desire written across his face. She nodded more firmly again and finally realized that Oghren, Wynne, and Leliana were standing there, too… She must have hit her head much harder than she thought. Eamon, Teagan, Solona, and a small force of Redcliffe's fighters were all surrounding them as well.

"What happened to 'guard the gate?'" She asked Oghren and felt a little more like herself.

The Dwarf's green eyes started dancing while Leliana and Wynne chuckled. They had their Warden back.

"Ya gonna nail me on tha' now, boss?" Oghren asked, "We knew wha' we were doin' an' worried that ya didn'. Can' fault us fer that."

Ffion smiled and shook her head.

"I still feel like I'm going to wake up in the middle of camp," She said softly, "This has to be a dream. Anytime now I'm going to look down and see I'm standing in nothing but my smallclothes watching Sten try to wrangle a nug."

Laughter rang out over the tower roof and Ffion was back to Ffion Cousland, surrounded by people who cared for her. This was what mattered: her companions; her collection of crazies… her _family._

* * *

"You really are leaving then?" Alistair asked.

Morrigan glanced at him with arched brows. After leaving the tower, the company had returned to Eamon's estate which had been saved from the fires and other carnage along with a healthy chunk of the other noble homes. Those who could keep their eyes open long enough dined on very simple fare, just what was available from the cellars, and most stretched out wherever there was room and immediately fell asleep. Ffion was under Wynne's guard and Alistair, heading to his own room, ran across Morrigan as she slipped through the halls of the estate.

"You really think it wise for me to stay?" She answered and her voice was cold, the insult to his intelligence very obvious, "In my condition? Were you not horrified by what people would think and say?"

Alistair's cheeks colored but he refused to be swayed. He folded his arms over his chest and met her direct, mocking gaze.

"I thought you'd stay behind a little longer for Ffion," He said and saw the gold eyes flicker, "She won't rest easily when you disappear without a word."

Morrigan stilled the wrench her heart gave, hating the vulnerability.

"'Tis better this way and you know it," She cocked her head and her smile made his skin feel rather prickly, "Besides, you will keep her quite occupied, yes? Do not let her do anything stupid, Alistair, I will ensure that she cannot find me. But I do owe her a wish for the best this life will give her. Whether this includes you remains to be seen."

The ex-Templar's face reddened more deeply at her suggestive tones and then he drew himself back to reality.

"But-"

"What has been done is done," She interrupted swiftly, "Your throne and city will remain safe from me and mine and I hope you find it within your heart to return the favor. I am gone."

She brushed by him and disappeared down the hall. A moment later, there was a small squeak of hinges when one of the windows opened and the same buzzing from the night before. Their Witch of the Wilds kept her word and vanished into the night.


	72. Chapter 72

**A/N: **Over a year and a half later, seventy-two chapters, and lots of late nights getting some of the most pesky scenes perfect, we've come to the final installment. Whew! Thanks so much to all my loyal readers, followers, and reviewers! You guys kept me going when I really didn't think I'd finish and, of course, Bioware can take all the credit for giving us a fantastic game to lose ourselves in when life starts to suck... or when life is going really well; I don't think the game cares ;-D And here's to Ffion's story continuing with Dragon Age Awakening (hopefully around early spring) cheers! -catalinaD

* * *

Denerim was saved, but huge portions of the city were razed or so damaged that there was no other option but to raze them. The Alienage had born the assault well and the city guard and those nobles who weren't afraid to roll up their sleeves and lend a hand hired the Elves to help in the clean-up and reconstruction. This was a huge boon to the Alienage and made the Elves feel like they were part of this city life… for once.

Alistair would have glued himself to Ffion's side if Eamon and Teagan had given him the chance. His uncles knew how distracted he became when she was around; how his attention span went to that of a flea's when he saw her smile, and kept him from her.

Morrigan's absence caused a stir and Alistair worried Ffion would track down the witch and to hell with her other responsibilities. She definitely felt the sting of Morrigan's abandoning her without a word and it surprised her just how much it hurt. The witch had been one of the first to stand with her. She had been Ffion's support in the Deep Roads and an ally the Warden counted on to always come through at the last minute; and now she was gone without so much as a simple goodbye. And what was most painful was that Ffion had known deep down it would probably end this way. Morrigan was so intensely private and though she had loyally followed Ffion through everything, she hadn't ever hidden her distaste for some of the recipients of the Warden's mercy and none of the other companions, save Sten maybe, had been within her good graces. Ffion just hated the finality of the witch's action and couldn't help feeling saddened by it.

As a distraction, the Warden headed up the effort to sweep the city of the Darkspawn and the remainder of her party trailed in her wake as usual, unwilling to let her out of their sight for even a moment. Her injuries had been quite serious. The arm needed a strong dose of potions and magic both before it was back to normal; she had shattered her ankle again and four ribs had snapped with most of the others cracked in that last assault with the Archdemon. The bumps and bruises would take a while to fade away, but her spirit was that of the old Ffion. The one before the Circle and the Fade; the one that threw barbed jokes in every direction, blurting the first nonsense that entered her head, and laughed more often.

Zevran fell even more in love with his improved Warden and vowed never to leave her side… Marriage to Alistair or not. Wynne had also agreed to stay on as an advisor to Alistair, Oghren joined the armies' ranks; and Leliana and Sten remained close by as well, unsure of their futures for the time-being.

Refugees that had fled the city prior to the Darkspawn attack slowly began trickling back to see what was left of their homes. The nobles that had also flown Denerim returned, and merchants and builders leaped at this opportunity to get money flowing back to Ferelden once more. The ties with the outlying lands were as they had been before the Blight started, perhaps a bit more strain with Orlais and Kirkwall, but the others were happy to have a healthy trade flow again. Highever's lands were still fertile and there were several landowners both there and to the south that had evaded the Darkspawn filth entirely and had built up storehouses that would last well through the winter, with plenty to spare for trade.

The rebuilding of Denerim was going to be a lengthy process and Ffion split the armies into forces. She sent most of them out to ensure the Darkspawn's continued retreat and a vast majority of Harrowmont's soldiers went with them to protect Orzammar from the creatures in case there was trouble. Harrowmont himself stayed with a handful of nobles to be present at Alistair's coronation. Lanaya's tribe also remained, though when the Araval arrived from Redcliffe with Isolde, Conner, and another force of men and women, they set up camp outside the city and most of the members had little to do with even their city-born brethren.

The soldiers that helped with the reconstruction were under Ffion's command and she had more fun with this than she had had in ages. They worked long days, shoulder-to-shoulder, from the foot soldiers on up to the commanders and though the men were a little leery of a young woman as their commander, killer of the Archdemon and Hero of Ferelden or not, they warmed to her as everyone else did. And when they heard how she laughed at Oghren and Zevran's jokes, they claimed her as one of their own and watched after her like a troop of hawks. The long, exhausting days allowed Ffion more nights without nightmares and the taint within her was calming, proving Alistair's words true, but she still dreamt of her family and Zevran kept the chasm from her face with ease. They were working in the decimated area around Fort Drakon when Ffion received a surprise that kept that chasm even further from the forefront.

"Warden!"

Ffion turned about automatically. She and Sten were cleaning up the burned-out remains of one of the outbuildings and she dropped the armful of charred wood into the wagon next to them before turning her attention to the group of men that approached. The rain that had pelted them for the past several days had finally abated and the morning was clear and cold. Tilly, sprawled underneath the wagon, lifted her head and sniffed the air. She crawled from her hiding place and trotted towards the men, whining softly. Ffion frowned at her, a frown that instantly transformed into a broad grin at the sight of Gilmore. His smile was just as bright and his green eyes danced. He looked more like his old self than ever and just before she could dart to him for a hug, he stepped to the side and she looked at the man behind him.

Her instant reaction was pity. Here was another poor soldier who had lived through the horrors of the Blight and looked it. His dark hair was disheveled and dusty and his lean frame rather gaunt. Her eyes traveled up to the thin, prematurely lined face and locked on a pair of ecstatic blue-grey eyes.

She let out a ragged gasp as Tilly went wild with joy and practically trampled Fergus Cousland where he stood. Ffion remained frozen in place, too afraid to even blink, thinking that somehow her brother would disappear. He slid his shield from his back, the same one he always used: the twin leaves faded and the blue backdrop almost grey, handed it to Gilmore, and took a cautious step forward.

"Oh, little one," He murmured in a voice hoarse with emotion, "It's not a dream."

She ran to him then and was caught up in his arms. Tears of joy stung her eyes and she laughed when he whirled her about, proving that his strength wasn't entirely gone. He set her on her feet again, his hands on her waist, and looked her over with the same intensity that she studied him. He was still the same Fergus: big and broad-shouldered, dark hair tumbling forward to hang in eyes that held the same shadows everyone else had acquired during the Blight. They had all seen too much death and destruction to come remotely close to what had been, but there was hope there now and this new beginning looked to be so much brighter than anyone believed.

Her clothes and hands had smudged charcoal across him and she smiled as he spoke.

"Ffion, I… I had no idea. When I got to Redcliffe and met Rick, it was unreal."

Her smile faded and she took his hands in hers. This had to be said, there was no way it could be left untouched between them.

"Oh, Fergus," She said quietly, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry about-"

"Don't, little one," He pulled her close for another hug, "You don't have to say anything. Rick told me. You did _nothing_ wrong and the bastard has paid. Never forget them; and never think you were responsible."

She pushed away from him gently with a nod and he tugged her short curls. Her smile slowly came back to her face and Fergus saw his little sister in this fierce young woman before him. The hard shell was no surprise and her grey eyes were flintier than ever, but glimpses of the whirlwind girl with impish dimples were shining through. She grabbed his hand, tucking the sorrow away.

"How did you escape, Fergus? What happened? Where have you been?" She started and Gilmore gave a true laugh.

"Plenty of time for it later, Fi," He told her, "We should report to the Arl."

"'Report?'" She repeated after giving her friend a brief hug. She stepped away from him with a frown and glanced at the men that had hung back during this reunion, "Oh, you mean to the commanders. Well, you've reported. Welcome to Denerim-post-armageddon."

She swung an arm at the razed buildings and the work that continued behind her. Her grey eyes danced a little as she gave Gilmore a nod to his unasked question.

"How's it feel?" Fergus quizzed, knowing exactly how heady it was to command a force of men. He missed the camaraderie.

"Amazing," She replied with another quick smile, "But we should get you to the estate. Alistair's coronation is tomorrow and we'll need to find a place to squeeze you all in. And then you and I will talk."

She added that last with her usual unfailing determination and glanced over her shoulder at Sten who had gone back to work. Though he had moved to a place quite a bit closer than before.

"I will take over, kadan, family is more important," His deep voice had gentled and he gave Fergus and Gilmore a nod before going back to his duties.

She thanked him and then fell in beside her brother and Gilmore, leading the way back to the Arl's estate. The other men trailed behind at a quick motion from Fergus and then he was looking down at Ffion's curly head and marveling at her hard-won maturity.

"And that was your Sten?" He asked.

"Yes, and I have to admit it took me ages to put two and two together," She frowned a little, "My head was a million miles away, clearly, when I met him. It was something Zevran said before I remembered the Qunari military names and made the connection."

"What is his name?"

She let out a huff of a sigh and shrugged her slender shoulders.

"I have no idea. Sten never asked us to call him anything different and in all honesty, it's none of my business. Besides I can't imagine him being called anything else."

Fergus blinked and felt the tug towards mischief that always intensified when Ffion was around.

"You have changed," He said in faux-surprise, "'None of my business?' The four words no one expects to hear from Ffion Cou-"

She immediately rounded on him with a grin and threw a punch. He dodged out of the way, laughing. Her heart leaped a little at the close call there and she prevented it the only way she knew how. But it was asinine to believe this concealment would last forever and it shocked her that no one had let it slip yet. She cast a quick, annoyed look at Gilmore which he studiously ignored. There was no way that he simply forgot to tell her brother the reason for the secrecy and she had to admit that she wasn't the least surprised that he had skipped over it. Gilmore had never been one for harmful cover-ups and she could only too easily see how this could hurt someone. She still dreaded what Alistair would say to her when he found out.

But then they were entering Eamon's estate and she learned with some relief that Alistair had gone to personally deliver an invitation to the ceremony tomorrow to Valendrian, Soris, and Shianni. At least the awkward questions would be postponed a bit further. The Arl was already aware of Fergus' presence and the small group of his men was given lodging in one of the abandoned noble's houses. The owner had not returned from the Blight infested lands and the place would have fallen into disrepair if the armies had not taken over.

Ffion took the opportunity to closet herself with her brother and Gilmore in the small upstairs office that Eamon lent her when her pile of missives and military records started growing larger. Valena, who had accompanied her lady from Redcliffe, came around with a tray of meat, cheese, and bread and a pitcher of water. Ffion accepted this and sent the girl on her way, serving the men herself.

"All right, Fergus," She said, handing him a loaded plate and passing one to Gilmore as well. She poured them all glasses and then settled into one of the low comfortable chairs after stirring the embers of the fire in the grate, "If you're up for it, tell me what happened."

Tilly perched on her haunches, looking between Gilmore and Fergus worshipfully, though it was for the food and not the men themselves. Fergus tossed her a bite, rubbed her chestnut head, and nodded to his sister.

"Maker, it's good to see she's with you," He replied quietly and then sobered, "And, yeah, I'm up for it; I'd rather you hear it from me. Well, we made it to Ostagar without much trouble and the morning of the day of the attack I took a small party of soldiers to scout."

"I know," Ffion said her voice soft. She wished that she had something stronger than just water to drink while they had this conversation, but that was saved for the evening meals. Fergus glanced up at her in surprise, knocking the tousled black hair out of his eyes. He looked at Gilmore briefly in confusion and Ffion tried to inject the irreverence again, "Don't blame Rick for you not knowing. You can't expect him to remember every little detail. I was at Ostagar, too. I arrived the afternoon of that day and was told that you were scouting… So, you didn't make it back?"

"No," Fergus shook his head and hesitated a moment before pressing on. The pain of the memories was slowly losing its sting; very slowly, "No, we didn't make it back. We were ambushed by the bastards and only Kellar and I made it. Two out of fifteen… Kellar was more or less okay but I had taken quite a beating and don't really remember much of the stumbling away and hiding. A few of the beasts chased after us, that I do remember, and Kellar managed to find a hollow in the hillside to hide me in. He stood guard at the entrance of the place for hours, battling those damn things until one of them got him in the leg with an arrow. He managed to crawl back to me and we were ready to meet the Maker when the whole hillside lit up and the monsters disappeared. We could hear voices in the valley and a couple of apostate mages… well, Chasind, really, came up to get us. We were taken back to a little hovel in the middle of the forest and nursed quite kindly. They got Kellar on his feet and got me back to whatever normal there was in the aftermath. One of them saw the destruction of Ostagar and told us what that bastard Loghain had done and we stayed on with them for a long time. We weren't sure how to repay their kindness and so we helped where we could."

"It was a family?" Ffion questioned, reaching out to lift a slice of cheese from the tray.

"No, not a family," Fergus frowned, "Not in the traditional sense. There were eight of them, all living together in this clearing. Really, it was rather ideal. They had a spring not far from their homes; the valley was through the trees to the south and the mountains to the east. They were able to spot threats coming from miles away and the Darkspawn never found us while we were there. Although the Chasind's fears were more Circle-Templar based then the Blight."

His sister's expression was suddenly very thoughtful and she reached up to tousle her curls in a gesture that was as old as time.

"Huh, I wonder…" Her voice trailed off and she shook her head a little, "It doesn't matter, never mind. So what happened next? You stayed with the Chasind and then what? Did you hear about the Blight ending down there?"

"No, like I said, Kellar and I tried to – You remember Kellar, don't you? I should have asked sooner."

Ffion stuck her tongue out at Gilmore when he snorted with laughter and wanted to hit Fergus after she spotted the dancing amusement in his eyes. She remembered Kellar very well and they knew it. Tall, broad-shouldered, blond haired Kellar with his baritone voice and piercing blue eyes… When she was twelve or thirteen years old, she had been infatuated with him and Gilmore had teased her mercilessly, making her swear that she would never tell him about any other boy she liked… She was vaguely surprised that she would have missed him in the collection of men Fergus had had with him, but then again, seeing her big brother had been rather distracting.

"Maker's balls," She finally muttered as they both laughed at her, "Am I ever going to live that down?"

"Never," Gilmore replied promptly, "You never live down your first loss or your first love."

"And for you those came at the same time, right?" She answered, turning the full force of her dimpled grin at him and then dodging the crust of bread he threw at her.

Tilly bolted for it as Fergus laughed his old laugh and pulled them back to their topic.

"Peace, you two, let me finish. No, little one, to answer your question. As part of our repayment to the Chasind, Kellar and I helped to protect them and in the process, we took in more 'strays' as Rowan, their leader, called us. The men you saw with me today, they were all refugees from surrounding villages, one or two soldiers that were lucky enough to live through Ostagar, and travelers that were attacked on the roads. We only left Rowan and her Chasind three, three and a half months ago, and set out for Redcliffe. Me and Kellar thought that would be our best bet to get any news and sure enough, I find Rick and he tells me that not only are you still alive, you're a Warden, commander of the new king's armies, and now Hero of Ferelden," He smiled at her beaming embarrassment and added gently, "Father would be so proud… and Marmie, too, after she was finished being furious."

Ffion smiled so faintly just the ghost of her dimples appeared. She had definitely hardened, his little sister. Her emotions were evident because he knew her so well; she had learned how to keep them on a tight lead. Her laugh was a little shaky but her eyes were dry as she leaned forward and took his hand.

"If only they were here," She agreed quietly, "And Oren and Oriana… Ferelden almost lost the Couslands, Fergus; I'm going to make sure that doesn't happen again."

"And I'm with you," He answered, his voice thick with emotion at the mention of his family, "To the end. And now it's your turn. Rick was able to tell me quite a bit, but I want to hear it from you. Time to spread the tale of your greatness, little sister."

Ffion sat back, rolling her eyes at this ridiculousness and proceeded to tell him everything.

It was much later when Fergus finally stood and told them that he was going to go and check on his men. Gilmore remained sitting and Fergus nearly ran into Zevran who had returned from his own mission for the afternoon. Ffion was instantly amused at her brother's very obvious distaste for the Elf. Not that she blamed him. Attempt at suicide or not, Zevran did try to kill them all and it would take some time before Fergus got over that. But Zevran was so charming and his pleasure at meeting his Warden's brother was entirely genuine. So Fergus parted company from him feeling like the Elf might possibly be worth something.

He headed down the hall and reached the main stairs just as Alistair was climbing them. The ex-Templar gave him a polite, indifferent smile and Fergus saw the resemblance to Cailan in the younger man's face. He inclined his head.

"Highness," He said when Alistair reached him.

The ex-Templar made a face and extended his hand.

"Please," He replied, friendly as ever, "It's just Alistair until tomorrow. Eamon said a force accompanied Isolde and Conner. You're part of it, then?"

"Fergus Cousland," Fergus liked Alistair immediately. His honey eyes were direct and honest and he gave the impression that he would be fair with anyone no matter what, "I was just meeting with Ffion. It's been a while."

Alistair's brows went up and he glanced down the hallway towards Ffion's little office. The surprise of hearing that one of the Couslands still lived was over-shadowed by the fact that he knew Ffion.

"I'm sorry about your family, Fergus," He said, the response automatic, "It's a tragic loss, but I am glad you're well. And you know Ffion?"

Fergus frowned, his grey-blue eyes fastening on Alistair's face and quick to see the flicker of jealousy. Amazement and suspicion started to creep into his thoughts and he glanced quickly toward Ffion's rooms as well. Would she really have kept it from them? And why the hell should she?

"You might say forever," He answered, fishing for how much Alistair knew.

The honey eyes went back to him and confirmed his suspicions. _Oh, little one, were you so desperate?_

"'Forever?'" Alistair repeated and it was his turn to frown, "I know she's from the north, but I guess we've never really discussed where exactly."

"You really don't have any idea who you've been following all this time?" Fergus questioned and sent a silent apology to his sister, "No idea at all?"

Alistair's frown deepened even further and he met Fergus' gaze. Who Ffion was? There were so many different ways he could answer that: the girl who saved the Circle, rescued a crumbling Dwarven city; restored his uncle. She was the one to end a centuries' old curse and save the Dalish. She was the Warden who rallied the armies of Ferelden against the Blight, the one who killed the Archdemon… the woman he loved… but Fergus clearly meant something else entirely and Alistair was at a loss.

"I don't think I understand," He said slowly, "Why are you asking? Who is she?"

Fergus allowed a little smile and though some voice inside his head told him his sister had done this for a reason, he couldn't imagine that it meant anything anymore. He drew himself up and became the Teyrn's son.

"You have been tearing around the country with my little sister," He replied, "For a while, _the_ Cousland, as far as she knew. The Warden, the Hero of Ferelden, is Ffion Cousland."

Alistair's jaw dropped and he stared at Fergus, speechless. Ffion _Cousland!? _He couldn't believe it at first and then as he studied Fergus' face, he could see some resemblance. The eye shape was the same, the straight nose, and dimpling smile; and this man would have no reason to lie to him. He thought back on their travels and could have kicked himself. All the times she had been able to gain access to seemingly unreachable targets; the way she moved and fought; her armor and learned speech. He felt like a fool! Even some of her comments should have tipped him off. _I have lost enough to know what you are going through._ He remembered that night so clearly: when he gave her the Warden pendant and they spoke about Duncan. Leaving him behind and facing off with Howe with a companion choice that suddenly made perfect sense… And then a beautiful thought came to him, so beautiful that it overwhelmed his anger and made him forget it for a moment. A thought that also closed his mouth and conjured a sheepish smile.

"Well, I guess I was a little slow on the uptake," He finally said and let his gaze stray back to Ffion's office, "But there were so many other things going on, so many conflicts it… It doesn't matter anymore; nothing does, except this one last thing."

Fergus frowned, wondering what was going on in the ex-Templar's head. He crossed his arms over his chest and wished the younger man would quit beating around the bush.

"What-"

"What I'm trying to say is, I've got a question for you now that I know who both of you are," Alistair interrupted in rather a rush and heard the nerves in his voice, "I mean to go about this the right way, now that I know it's really possible. So, please, hear me out."

* * *

Zevran beamed at Ffion after Fergus quit the room and settled into the vacated chair. Gilmore's attitude towards him had warmed and though there were still occasions where the Elf made him rather nervous, they were becoming few and far between.

"This is wonderful news, dove," Zevran said and his amber eyes glowed.

Ffion's smile was real, the dimples genuinely denting her cheeks, and it thrilled him to see her so completely happy.

"It's unbelievable," She agreed and then leaned forward, "And what about you? Did you find anything?"

Zevran, true to form, had wasted no time in acquiring contacts within the city that would keep him apprised of any future Crow move against himself, Ffion, or Alistair. And in this process, he garnered valuable information about the dissidents that were already grumbling about their new king. Living up to his promise to keep her safe, he investigated the rumors himself.

"Indeed," He replied and inclined his head, "You need not trouble yourself, pet, the plot was halted before it began. Convenient, yes? Employing a former Crow."

"Very," She answered, "And I'm sure Leliana is very pleased with all of the gossip you glean."

Zevran grinned wickedly as Gilmore chuckled.

"As if our bard needs to wait for my information," The Elf said, "I know she told you of her past. She is nearly as good as I at this game."

Ffion laughed and glanced at Gilmore.

"You see? Assassins and spies, really no difference in their tactics. You're my witness; Oghren owes me a sovereign."

"Which he'll borrow from Wynne," Gilmore agreed, "She's way too soft with him."

Zevran protested the Warden's argument with faux-hurt as Ffion sent him another grin.

"Spies?" Zevran clarified, "They are bedded and then stabbed through the heart while they sleep… by the assassins."

Ffion's cheek colored a little while Gilmore laughed again. Her grey eyes danced and she was giddy with the return of her brother.

"You know, the very same argument was made about me and Zev, Rick. All the others thought I was crazy for being so soft after the abysmal failure of his attack," She said thoughtfully, pulling a curl and grinning at the Elf when he dramatically pressed one hand to his heart in more mock hurt, "But look what he's done for me. So far it's worked out."

The taint swirled to life within her, preceding Alistair's dry voice at her door.

"That doesn't mean the argument doesn't hold weight," He said and his eyes were fixed on his fellow Warden.

"Ah, suspicious Chirpy," Zevran greeted and felt a sharp jab at the tender protectiveness in Alistair's gaze as he looked at their Warden, "Why fret about what you cannot change?"

"I could change it," Alistair rose to the bait, as always, "Just-"

"Zev, quit provoking," Ffion interrupted and then smiled at Alistair, "Would you like something to eat or drink? Or did you want to sit and chat a bit?"

The ex-Templar knew there were more eloquent ways to do this, but her secrecy had hurt and even knowing he had permission for what he wanted to ask her, he wasn't ready to let this rest. And never mind the elation he still felt after his conversation with Fergus.

"Why didn't you tell me, Ffion?" He asked quietly and the change in the room was instantaneous.

It was as though a cloud rolled across the sun. Gilmore dropped his gaze to his hands, embarrassed for his friend; Zevran's face tightened with frustration, and Ffion's smile slowly faded from her mouth as her grey eyes flickered. First with confusion and then horrified realization. She swallowed hard and tried frantically to think of a way around this, and came up empty. _Damn it, Fergus!_

"Well, I…" Her voice trailed off uncertainly and Tilly whined, shoving her head under her lady's palm, "It's… complicated?"

Alistair arched a brow at the way she tried to feel him out and hardly realized that this was the second time he was intentionally hurting her without a thought given to it.

"It must be," He replied and she winced.

"Now, Alistair, wait a minute," Gilmore said sharply, his green eyes flashing. He knew Ffion had been in the wrong here but that didn't mean it gave the ex-Templar reason to hurt her.

"No, Rick," Ffion cut in and her voice quieted, "He's right. I should never… I'm sorry, Alistair. It wasn't fair of me. You told me of your heritage and I should have returned the favor, but… it seemed like it would be so much easier to get to that bastard if he didn't know I was still alive."

"And after he was dead?" Alistair questioned, his anger still burning. Ffion simply looked at him and there was just the barest curve of a smile as her grey eyes became shuttered. The realization came to him then and he loosed the arms he had folded over his chest and felt his gaze widen, "You didn't think you'd survive… even the Fort… And we threw a wrench into your plans."

"Well," She said with a shrug. Gilmore was looking at her now and Zevran had turned his attention to the hearth, the amusement gone from his amber eyes, "You guys weren't the only ones. Darroch was… very convincing. He knew that you would come for me and play into Loghain's hands and I couldn't let you do that. But, to answer you, no I never expected to walk out of the bastard's estate. That would have solved everything and-"

"No," Zevran said roughly and then he altered in a blink. His amber eyes were suddenly lit and he smiled at the Warden, "Silly pet, what good would those eyes do if you were dead? And a noose would hardly suit you."

"Seconded," Gilmore agreed.

Ffion spared them both a brief smile, hardly looking away from the ex-Templar. He was clearly trying to get his head wrapped around the enormity of her _wanting_ to die that night and his honey eyes had lost some of their fire.

"I truly am sorry, Alistair," She repeated quietly and felt her heart go out to him, "If it makes a difference, there were hardly any occasions where I really felt like a Cousland on the road."

"It doesn't," He replied gruffly and Fergus' answer to his question was still on the back burner of his mind, "You should have told me, Ffion."

Her grey eyes flashed a little and then Eamon's voice traveled down the hall to them.

"There you are, Alistair," He said and came level with his nephew. He smiled at Ffion, Zevran, and Gilmore, seeing Alistair's frustration and Ffion's discomfort. It was also very clear that this was nothing to do with the Warden becoming Alistair's queen. Anger flickered briefly over the Elf's face and Gilmore's eyes were pitying as they strayed to Ffion, "If I could borrow him for a moment, Ffion? Harrowmont is asking for an audience."

"Certainly," Ffion replied promptly and got to her feet, "I should probably wander over to the marketplace and see how much trouble Oghren is giving Leliana and Wynne."

"I'll come with you, Ffion," Gilmore offered as he stood, "It's been a while since I've seen Denerim's market."

"It is not quite what you will remember," Zevran warned and had also gotten to his feet, "The Darkspawn were not… conscientious, yes? And, dove, Solona accompanied Wynne as well. Oghren will not go against her."

"Well, that's something at least," She gave Alistair a last, brief apologetic look as they brushed by him and headed down the hall.

As soon as they disappeared, the ex-Templar rounded on his uncle.

"You knew?" He demanded, "Was I the only one kept in the dark? Ffion _Cousland!_"

"Ah, so that's what this is about," Eamon's patient voice was irksome, "Yes, I knew from the moment I saw her that she was Bryce's daughter, but then I had the benefit of knowing the Teyrn quite well. Ffion was wise to keep this quiet."

"The bastard's been dead for weeks now," He said swiftly and remembered Ffion's pointed look with a jab of pain, "She should have told me. It would have made things so much simpler earlier on."

The Arl's gaze quickened on his nephew's face and his lips started up at the corners.

"I see," He answered and the knowing gleam in his eyes made Alistair look sheepish, "I understand the anger, truly I do. You feel that she was dishonest with you and maybe she was though the only way I could envisioning this happening is if she lied outright when you asked. And I can see by your face that she didn't," Alistair's cheeks flushed with anger and his honey eyes sparked. Eamon stepped forward and put one hand on his shoulder, "My dear boy, now is the time to forget the evil that has been wrought and focus solely on the good. With any triumph there is a small time for mourning and this is no exception, but we have won this; won a tremendous victory and the days are bright. Let this victory be your rally now."

And Eamon's words had their desired effect. The talk of a victory brought Fergus' answer back to the forefront and with it came some trepidation. There was just one more victory left to claim.

* * *

"Lords and ladies of Ferelden, may I present your king!" Eamon's clear, deep voice rang out over the gentle shuffling and murmuring of the gathered nobility, "His majesty Alistair Theirin!"

There was a healthy round of cheers and applause and Alistair stepped forward to the edge of the raised dais where his uncle was standing. The head high balcony was filled with people and on the main floor running in between the press was even heavier. Even Anora had attended though she looked shocked and pale as though the surprise of Alistair's coronation was too much for her. In the square outside the palace Elves from the Alienage and Denerim's everyday populace gathered to watch what they could through the open doors. The morning was cold and grey; a heavy fog had settled over the city during the night, but that did nothing to damper the attendance.

Alistair looked around a little nervously but his one and only wish was that the damn fog would roll out and he could get some sunshine. His nerves didn't last long. He straightened his shoulders and addressed the room.

"My lords and ladies, the Blight has ended and we were victorious!" He called over the applause. The room quieted for him and he could feel the eyes as they all focused on him, "Now I would ask you to stand with me once more as we rebuild what has been lost and show the world that Fereldens are never defeated!"

This brought another, very loud, explosion of cheers and he let his eyes wander the crowds as he waited. He recognized the nobles that stood with him in the Landsmeet, Circle mages, Dwarven warriors whose ferocity in battle had made Orzammar proud; the small group of Dalish attendees stood towards the front with Lanaya, Soris, Valendrian, Shianni, and their uncle Cyrion. Across from this group were Teagan, Isolde, Conner; Harrowmont, Irving and Solona; and then his own companions. They stood clustered around Ffion where they all belonged and Gilmore and Fergus stood at either of her elbows, with Tilly. Ffion who looked at him with bright grey eyes and brilliant, proud smile; Ffion who let Leliana coil and pin her hair back most becomingly and then twist the few fresh flowers that could be found into the chocolate curls. He had spotted the only one that mattered the instant he stepped onto the dais and saw her walk into the hall with the others, and he was still waiting for his heart to quit its irregular thumping. His rose, preserved beautifully, had been tucked behind one ear, the other left plain, and the meaning was clear. None of the delicate white and scarlet blooms twisted amongst her curls could compete with his and her sweetly embarrassed smile at his attention nearly destroyed his concentration.

And then, after that pointed look from Fergus and conspiratorial wink from Gilmore, he realized what he had to do… _now_. He had planned on waiting until the right time; he had wanted to do this right, be romantic. He had envisioned candles and twilight, just the two of them in the peace and quiet after all of this commotion. But if the Maker was pushing for the moment to be now… well, who was he to go against that? He wasn't about to argue.

"I… I am sorry, sers, to prolong this, but there is something that I have to do before any more time is wasted," He said and didn't hear the shifting and murmuring that came next. Turning to Ffion, his nervousness vanished and he loved her all the more for her reaction to this. The companions knew what he was doing instantly and only Ffion appeared confused. Her smile faltered a little only to become more encouraging and he moved down a step, "Some time ago an arrangement was struck. An arrangement concerning a certain thought I had in my head and, of all things, the weather. The other contingency was that there had to be a victory, which there was," Ffion's lips had parted and her face went from pale shock to flustered red. Her grey eyes, even brighter, were huge as they remained riveted to him. He had reached the main floor and moved to her, and now he took her hand in his and went to one knee, "Sorry about the weather, love, but everything else is here. I'm in love with you, Ffion, and I can't imagine life without you… Marry me?"

She blinked rapidly, sure that she would wake up any moment and find out that she was running late for the coronation. But no, Alistair was still kneeling in front of her, his hand tight around hers and his heart in his face. And that being that he woke that night at Eamon's estate was bouncing around in her head, ecstatic, as it tried to drown out the voice that sounded like her mother. _Two Wardens on the throne? It looks suspiciously like- What the _hell_ does it matter?!_ Her head whirled as this internal struggle went on and she opened her mouth to respond only because the silence had gone on long enough.

"Alistair," She said weakly and felt the eyes of every single soul on them, "Shouldn't we… Wouldn't it be better to _talk_ about this?"

What had happened in Fort Drakon's last tower room, what had nearly been confessed, had never been discussed and Ffion felt a fleeting stab of panic. She had never actually said the word 'love' to him and yet here he was, knowing her heart and entirely confident in her answer.

"No need," He said promptly and felt the pulse leap in her slender wrist, "I told you you were what I want and I'll keep at it unless you're telling me no. Are you?"

Ffion let out a little huff of breath, wondering how he could be so flippant and calm about this. And then she saw just how stormy his eyes were and it was hard to breathe.

"Well, no, but…" His hold tightened again and a fierce hope entered his face at her words, "Maker's balls, Alistair, get up off the floor and let me think about this!"

"I don't want you thinking about it," He answered stubbornly, the quiet passion back in his voice, "I want you to marry me."

The two voices in her head were in an all-out war now and the one who knew damn well she loved her ex-Templar was winning. The other, rational side of her brain though had to make the usual entreaties. Before she could open her mouth, Zevran's voice came in her ear, knowing what she wanted and pushing her towards it.

"Be happy now, my dove," He said quietly and felt his own heart wrench with pain at the thought of losing her, "Do not cling to this darkness. If anyone deserves the sunshine, it is you."

Her face softened and Alistair let out a breath, but didn't move. She, clearly, had been trying to think rationally for far too long.

"Fergus," She said shortly as the ex-Templar tried to tug her closer.

"No use, little one," Her brother replied jovially, "His highness and I have been in agreement since yesterday afternoon. He has my blessing."

"Don't look at me, Fi," Gilmore warned as her lips parted and her grey eyes caught his, "I'm not going to shield you from the king… or yourself."

He gave her a little push in the small of her back at the precise moment that Alistair pulled again. She stumbled forward into the ex-Templar's chest with a gasp, having just enough time to wonder how he stood up so fast, and then his mouth closed on hers and everything disappeared.

Alistair gathered her close and kissed her thoroughly, fulfilling that weeks… _months_ long desire to kiss this girl senseless. At first she was too shocked to respond and then she hesitantly kissed him back, her hands curling into the fabric of his finery. He lifted his mouth from hers for a moment and her gasp made his heart race even faster.

"You do love me?" The words were low and hoarse and his arms tightened around her.

"Yes," She said automatically and it came in a breath, "But, we- hmm…"

Alistair kissed her again, more fiercely this time, and she had no choice but to simply cling to him for a moment before twining her arms up around his neck and kissing back with equal passion. The world was forgotten, neither one of them gave their rather rapt audience a thought, and when Ffion made an almost mewling sound when his tongue hit hers, he had to work very hard to remember where they were. He broke the kiss again and gasped harshly as she leaned into him, trying to pull his head back to hers.

"Marry me, Ffion," The words were hoarse and breathless, "I can't… Please, say yes."

Her grey eyes blinked open and were just as stormy as his. Fingers traveled up to play with the short hair at the nape of his neck and her rational side lost its battle in a spectacular flash of colors as Ffion nodded her head.

"Yes," She whispered and gave him his smile.

Her heart filled with warmth and she barely had time to take another breath before he pulled her closer and kissed her a third time. She felt him smile against her mouth before the world faded away. He lifted his head almost as soon as they kissed and beamed around the room.

"That was a yes, in case you all are wondering," He announced and Ffion's flaming face ducked against his chest.

More cheers went up and the happy couple shared one more kiss before Alistair remembered what today was supposed to be about. He reluctantly let her go and she realized for the first time that he had pulled her up onto her tiptoes. His hands on her waist were the only things that steadied her and he leaned down to brush his lips against hers just because he could. With a crooked grin, he jumped back to the dais and allowed his uncle to finish this ceremony.

He couldn't keep his eyes from straying to his Ffion and the bright grey eyes, flushed cheeks, and rather red lips held more beauty than anything he had ever seen. She was finally his and he had always been wholly hers and the future of Ferelden was now awash in brilliant sunshine.


End file.
